


Drunken Watson, Hidden Feelings

by Madam_Fandom



Series: NaNoWriMo [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual John, Creepy Moriarty, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Distraught Sherlock, Dreams vs. Reality, Drunk John, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, John Doesn't Mind, John is shy, John thinks he is dreaming, Kidnapped John, M/M, Mike Stamford is a good friend, Mike sees through John, Minor dub consent, NaNoWriMo, Riddles, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is curious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Fandom/pseuds/Madam_Fandom
Summary: John goes out drinking with Mike, but when he gets home, he confesses things to Sherlock because he thinks he is dreaming. 
But when others get wind of the possible budding relationship things go terribly wrong. Who could possibly want to stop them from coming together?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another attempt at writing a story for nanowrimo. Let me know what you all think.

John stumbled into the flat very late. He’d had a night out with Stamford and that of course meant there had been drinking. Sherlock, having another sleepless night was laying on the couch sulking. He had been in a terrible mood all day and he himself wasn’t sure why. At the very least he didn't want to examine the cause closely. When John walked through the door at who knew what Godly hour, Sherlock didn’t even budge.

“Sheeer-Sherlop, are you sleep?” John slurred and lurched in his direction, Sherlock didn’t respond. “Sherlooocp my love…”  
Sherlock stiffened at John’s words. That was new. John using an endearment when referring to him. To be honest whenever John called him an idiot he felt the fondness and affection from the shorter man. But he had a feeling this was slightly different. The couch dipped down as John practically fell in his lap. Sherlock had been laying on his side, providing plenty of room for John to sit down too.  
A big clumsy hand dropped on Sherlock’s hip; so close to being an indecent fondle Sherlock’s breath hitched. If John’s hand was an inch or two further to the right he would be dangerously close to cupping Sherlock’s prick.

Sherlock finally gave in and turned onto his back looking up at John. His face was ruddy and his eyes shifty, having a hard time focusing, but Sherlock is almost certain that John kept trying to focus on his lips.

“Am I dreaming Sherly? You, laying there looking all amazing with your bright blue eyes, crazy sex me curls and perfect kiss me wips.”  
Sherlock was curious as to what more his blogger would say if he said yes he was dreaming. “Course you’re dreaming, otherwise I wouldn’t have sex me curls or perfect kiss me lips.” Sherlock replied in a lower toned version of his usual sarcasm filled voice.  
“Kiss you…” John repeated barely audible. He wet his lips and tip forward. Sherlock thought for sure John was going to kiss him. But just as quickly he rocked away, swaying even though he was sitting down now. “Yes, okay. I must be dreaming otherwise I would never have the courage to say- wait you always have sex me lips and kiss me hair.”  
Sherlock brushed off John drunk slip up and prodded, “Courage to say what John? Say it now.”  
John yawned. “Can I way here with you?” John paused for a moment, not giving Sherlock the opportunity to answer; he laid down beside Sherlock, snuggling in close and wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist so that they both fit on the couch. “Of course I can. It’s my bloody dream.”  
John had laid himself on Sherlock’s arm, the back of his hand resting against John’s upper thigh. Sherlock swallowed and shimmied his arm free; he held it above his head as he tried to figure out what to do with it.  
“Put it around me you id-id-idiot. Hold me.”  
Sherlock dropped his arm around John’s shoulders and John nestled in closer, fitting himself under Sherlock’s shoulder and resting his head against his chest. Sherlock was a little torn about deceiving John, but he had to admit, this was nice. After several minutes of peaceful embracing Sherlock felt John place a kiss against his heart and he mumbled, Goodnight Sherlock.”  
“Goodnight John.”

Not even ten minutes later John was gently snoring against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock laid there taking it all in. He’d known for some time that he had feelings for his flatmate. Extremely strong feelings, but he wasn’t quite sure with John. He was so mercurial in his moods. One moment Sherlock was sure John loved him and would be open to pursuing a relationship with him, and the next he was according him and calling him a fucking machine. But to be fair, it was one of the things he liked best about John. He was spirited, passionate about things. Emotionally driven, sure.  
Sherlock lay there for hours holding John, simply thinking, examining his feelings. When the first tendrils of light started to creep across the room Sherlock regrettably disengaged himself from John. He couldn’t be found lying with John, because then he would know Sherlock had lied to him and the night before had not been a dream. Sherlock retired to his own room leaving John slumbering on the couch as if he had stumbled in the night before and crashed there.  
Sherlock had a fitful sleep, he kept waking up to reach out for John. It had been only a couple of hours. His body was already acclimated to having John in his arms. What had he done?

Sherlock sat across from a bleary eyed, hungover John hours later. He studied the man to see if there was any signs of recollection of the night’s events. They both nursed a cup of coffee and looked a bit worse for wear.

“Oh man, I drank way too much last night. Were you up when I came in last night?”  
“No. Why do you ask?”  
“I can imagine what a mess I was. Glad you didn’t have to see me like that is all.”  
Sherlock couldn’t prevent the smile that spread across his face.  
“What? Why are you smiling?”  
“No reason. I’ve seen you drunk before John, what’s the big deal?”  
“I don’t know, I just had a really weird dream last night.”  
Sherlock managed to keep his face neutral this time. “Aren’t you supposed to go out with Stamford again tonight? To celebrate something or another?”  
John groaned and lowered his head to his hands. “Yessss. He got a promotion at work and somehow him asking me to go out and celebrate turned into a dare that I was too old to go out every night for a week straight.”  
Sherlock’s interest was piqued. “Oh. All week? Really? Last night was only the first night and you’re already regretting it. Not a good sign John, maybe you should just bow out, I’m sure Mike will understand.”  
Another groan rose up from John. “No! I am not too old. I still have plenty of stamina. I keep up with you don’t I?”  
Lucky for Sherlock John had his head lowered and couldn’t see the blush that marched across his face.  
“Come with me one of the nights. It will shake things up a bit.”  
“Um, no.”  
“Well maybe not tonight. Just think about it Sherlock, you have all week.”  
“Okay.”  
John’s head popped up, “Really?”  
“There’s no harm in thinking about it.”  
“Great. Thank you.”

“So what does the rest of your day look like?” Sherlock inquired.  
“Honestly maybe just some crap t.v., care to join me?”  
Sherlock thought back to last night and their time on the couch. “Nooo.” He drew out the word as he answered. His body was already betraying him. Twitching wanting to reach across the table and take John’s hand, a simple touch. Any touch would do. It almost felt like what he went through when he was experiencing withdrawals. Abruptly he got up from the table and went to his room leaving a confused John at the table.

Later that night Sherlock waited anxiously for John to return from his night out. He had the telly on, not really seeing it. Around one in the morning the door to their flat opened. Sherlock didn’t dare look up until he heard a voice call out.  
“Sherlock, thank goodness’ a little help please.” Mike Stamford stood in the entrance barely able to support John’s short frame.  
Sherlock stood up immediately going over to the duo, effortlessly taking John from Stamford.  
“Put meeee down, I can walk.” John complained.  
“Sorry to just leave like this, but I have to work in the morning.”  
Sherlock simply nodded and locked the door back as he supported John’s weight between his chest and the door.  
“Swirlock, put me down.”  
“I’m taking you to bed John Watson. That is the only place I will put you down.”  
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck, placing a sloppy kiss against the pulse of his neck. Sherlock’s steps faltered on the steps. “John?”  
“Don’t worry, it’s only a dweam.”  
“How do you know?” Sherlock replied as he continued up the stairs.  
“Because,” John placed another sloppy kiss under Sherlock’s ear. “You’re holding me. And I’m kissing you.” John’s voice was light and carefree, almost childlike.  
Sherlock reached John’s door, it was already ajar he just had to toe it open to enter. Sherlock walked over to the bed trying to deposit John on the bed but John would not let go of his neck. “John. Let go. I’m trying to put you down like I promised.”  
“Okaay, but don’t let go.”  
“What?” Sherlock’s voice was strained from the awkwardness of their positions, John half on the bed hanging around his neck. And Sherlock leaning over bracing their combined weight on the bed. “John please.”  
There was no response from John, Sherlock looked down and saw that John was looking up at him, lips slightly parted. He wanted to taste those lips so bad. But he refused to take advantage of John’s delusioned state.  
Breathlessly John begged him with a single word, wetting his lips, “Sherlock…”  
Sherlock dipped his head about to give in to John’s plea when the shorter man turned abruptly, vomiting on the floor, just barely missing Sherlock.

John moaned, “I am so swrry.”  
“It’s alright. Let me go get a rag.” John finally let go of his neck, allowing him to go to the bathroom returning with a warm wet rag. Sherlock cleaned John up, removing his shirt as well because he’d gotten a little vomit on it. Sherlock tucked John into bed and as he was turning away John grabbed his wrist, he looked at John, “I’ll be back, I'm just going to go get something to clean this up with.”  
“I really must be dreaming. Sherlock would never dot on me or clean up after me, it’ usually the other way around.” John spoke really slow and Sherlock had to concentrate on his words, but in the end he was kind of hurt. John didn’t think too highly of him did he?

Sherlock cleaned up the mess lost in his own thoughts, completely oblivious of John staring at him. When he had finished he brought John up a cup of water and a piece of toast. He helped him drink and eat it without making a mess. Sherlock turned out the lights and as he was leaving he heard John ask him not to leave very quietly. “Goodnight John.”

Downstairs Sherlock moped over what John had said. Was he really that self absorbed and selfish? Did he never do anything for John to show his appreciation for and of him. Sherlock lay on the couch in his prime thinking position, on his back and finger steepled under his chin. He ended up falling asleep instead of thinking and that was how John found him the next morning sleeping on the couch, shivering. John fetched Sherlock’s blanket from his room and placed it over the sleeping man.  
John knew he had gotten even more drunk last night. He and Stamford was suppose to have a drinking contest but after John had done his Stamford had laughed and called him mad. Mike had to work in the morning and lucky for John he had the week off at surgery and Sherlock hadn't taken a new case. John remembered bits and pieces about last night, not quite sure what was real and what he had made up in his drunken state. He recalled Stamford sharing a cab with him to make sure he made it home; he thought he recalled Sherlock picking him up and carrying him to his room. John frowned. Did he...had he kissed Sherlock on the neck? Christ he hoped that part was just a dream. He remember vomiting, well he didn’t remember, he saw evidence of it on the shirt balled up beside his room door along with some cleaning rags in a bag also near the door. There had been a plate and half glass of water by the bed on the side table. Sherlock must have brought it to him, and cleaned up after him, because John knew he hadn’t been capable of doing any of that last night.

John had a nasty hangover and the whole day to recoup before he and Mike went out again tonight. John went to the kitchen and made himself some plain cereal hoping the oats would help settle his stomach even more.

That evening John was struck by the fact he hadn’t seen Sherlock all day. Once the detective had woken up he must have left or went in his room. Because John had been upstairs in his room. He would be leaving soon and he wanted to speak with Sherlock before he left. He wanted to thank him.  
John knocked on Sherlock’s door. “Sherlock? Are you in there?”  
“Nope.” Came the reply.  
“Sherlock can I talk to you before I go, please.”  
Sherlock opened the door with far more force than was necessary. He walked past John without speaking walking into the kitchen and put the kettle on.  
John followed behind. “Sherlock, are you angry with me? Did I do or say something wrong last night?”  
Sherlock kept right along ignoring John.  
“Fine. I’ll say what I wanted to say regardless. Thank you. Thank you for looking after me last night. I really appreciate it. Annnd I’m sorry if I was a complete and utter dickhead last night.”  
Silence. John looked down at his watch, he needed to go if he was going to be on time. Tonight he and Stamford was going to a pub within walking distance.

Mike yelled at John over the loud music. “Maybe you should slow down on those John! You got pretty legless last night.”  
“I know. I had myself a chunder and Sherlock cleaned me up.”  
Mike stared at John for a heartbeat before adding, “You also had a lot to say about him mate.”  
“Him? Who Sherlock?” John took another long swig of his beer.  
“Yes. You were talking about a weird dream you had with him and how you wish you had the balls to really do something like that.”  
It was now John’s turn to stare at Mike. “Like what?” John signaled for two more beers, taking one and passing the other to Mike.  
“No, no, no. I’m done. I work tomorrow and the rest of the week.” John pulled the second beer back over to himself.  
“And you don’t need to drink it either John. I think you’ve had enough. You still need to get home.”  
“I walked, remember.”  
“Yes but will you be able to walk home again? We should just call off the rest of the week. You’ve proven your point. There’s no need to continue coming out every night.”  
“Does that mean you’re conceited defeat?” John asked erroneously.  
“Conceding? Yes. You’re correct, you’re still young enough to go out every night.” Mike pacified.  
“Nooo!” John yelled suddenly. “We can’t throw in the towel yet, Sherlock said he would come out with us one day this week.”  
“Why?”  
“I asked him to. Maybe I can get him drunk and take advantage.”  
“John Watson! I am appalled.”  
“What? No, not like that, although that may be nice, I just want to ask him some questions. A little truth or truth.” The men sat in silence while John polished off one of the beers. “Mike, is it wrong for me to want Sherlock to take advantage of me?”  
“What? Excuse me? Sherlock wouldn’t do that.”  
“What if I made the first move? How bout then?”  
“I think you need to have a very sober conversation with Sherlock about how you feel.”  
“Hmmm? No. I don’t wanna talk, just feel.”  
“Alright, that’s enough for tonight. Stamford threw some bills on the counter and grabbed John around the bicep pulling him away from the bar.  
John grabbed the unfinished beer and began drinking it as he was lead out.  
Mike looked back and saw John gulping the beer and snatched it from his mouth and deposited it on a nearby table.  
Mike Stamford walked John back home, not letting go of John’s arm in fear that the doctor would stumble back to the bar.  
Mike dug John’s key out of his pocket and led him upstairs to 221B. For the second time in two nights Mike surrendered John to Sherlock.  
“Back already?” Sherlock said in a very stiff manner.  
“Yeah. Sorry about dropping him on you like this two nights in a row. I called the bet off, the rest of the week shouldn’t be any issue. Sorry again Sherlock.”  
John looked up at his tall, handsome flatmate. Sherlock wasn’t just handsome. He was bloody beautiful. Beautiful in the way he usually thought of women. Not saying Sherlock was feminine. He was all man, but he had this beauty about him that John couldn’t explain.

Sherlock locked up and started pulling John towards the stairs when John dug his heels in stopping progress.  
John was no Sherlock by any stretched of the imagination, but he could tell Sherlock was still angry with him for something he couldn’t remember doing or saying. “Why are you angry with me Sherlock?” John almost sounded sober when he asked his question, but then swayed on his feet.  
Sherlock started pulling him along again, not answering John’s question.  
John snatched his hand away from Sherlock. “Answer me dammit.”  
Sherlock whirled on John in anger, it surprised John and he wobbled almost falling. Sherlock caught him and dragged him over to the couch. Towering over John he answered his question with a question. “Do you really think I am selfish and never do anything for you?”  
John was taken aback, and even in his drunken haze his words from the night before rushed back at him. He saw the hurt in Sherlock’s eyes. John was processing all of this slowly, the alcohol in his system causing him to take longer than usual to piece everything together. Sherlock took his slow response to mean he in fact did think of him in that manner and stormed off to his room; leaving John there, mouth open, floundering trying to find the words.

John hadn’t meant to upset Sherlock. He cared about him. He cared about him? Where had that thought come from? Of course John cared about Sherlock, they had been friends for quite some time now, but John understood what his mind was saying. He cared about Sherlock; in a romantic way.  
The past couple of days John had thought his nightly dreams were simply brought on by Sherlock’s unnatural magnetism and the fact that John hadn’t had a decent shag in almost eight months. Bloody hell, Mike was right. He needed to have a talk with Sherlock. He wasn’t as drunk as the other nights and he might as well get it over with before he lost the courage to do so.

John stood up and stumbled over to Sherlock’s bedroom door, he knocked. “Sherrrlock? Can we pwease talk? There was no response. “Sherlock?. Sherlock answer the door.” John tried the door after several moments of no response. It was locked. John slid down the door and sat on the floor. He’d just wait out Sherlock. He had to come out the room eventually.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Sherlock came out of his room to find a sleeping John curled up in front of his bedroom door. It caught him off guard and left him standing there wondering what he should do. He was still upset with John, but he also wanted to prove to John that he could be physically caring and attentive. Unsure of how attentive he should be though, Sherlock opted to simply cover John with the blanket from his own bed. 

 

Sherlock showered and dressed in the bathroom, wanting to eliminate as much traffic around John as possible. He wished to be gone by time John awoke. Stepping over John one last time Sherlock entered the kitchen, set the coffee pot to brew in an hour, and placed a pack of biscuits on the table with a note. 

 

**Coffee should be on by time you wake up. And I left a pack of biscuits for you as well, it should help settle your stomach.**

**\-  SH**

Sherlock wasn’t sure where he was going to go, he didn’t have a new case yet. Maybe he could check in with Lestrade and see if anything new had come up that he could possibly help with. 

Sherlock left the flat catching a cab out front. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he was being watched.

Sherlock spent half the day with Lestrade, at first going through old unsolved crimes, searching for anything the police might have missed, which in Sherlock opinion was everything. When he began to get bored he followed The D.I around until he was finally told to bugger off. Not taking it personal in The least Sherlock left and headed over to Barts to see if there was anything he could help Molly with. There wasn’t and when he could no longer stomach the incessant one-sided conversation about her and her new boyfriend Sherlock left. He didn’t even say bye, just stood up and walked out. 

Looking at his watch he saw it was only six in the evening, way too early to return home just yet so he pulled out his mobile and texted Mycroft. 

**Bored! Don’t you have a case you need me to solve?**

**\- SH**

**No.**

**\- M**

Refusing to admit defeat Sherlock headed over to Angelo's and decided to have dinner. He hadn’t ate much of anything in the last two days, he might as well have a bite to eat. 

 

While Sherlock ate he pondered the curious nature of one John Hamish Watson. John never drank to excess because of family history, not even while he was out with Stamford. He wondered what pushed him to break his own rule. He couldn’t very well ask him because that would bring up painful memories from John’s childhood and he didn’t want to do that. One would logically deduce that whatever he was ranting and raving about while drunk would be the culprit behind his excessive drinking, but Sherlock just couldn’t believe he would be the cause of John’s drinking. 

Moving on to an easier subject, Sherlock thought about his own recent past, as it pertained to John. He really couldn’t recall doing anything nice for his flatmate. It was always the other way around. John was constantly doing for Sherlock, even when Sherlock protested. And John had never complained about Sherlock not returning the favors for him, not until the night before last. And even that wasn’t really a complaint. But the fact that Sherlock doing something nice for John made the other man feel like he must be dreaming stung. Sherlock and John was suppose to be friends at the very least, and friends were kind to one another and did things for each other without asking. Sherlock needed to do better. No wonder John thought he had been dreaming when Sherlock paid him a little courtesy. 

Finishing up his food Sherlock decided he would head on home. It was almost eight now and he should probably have a talk with John. 

After thanking Angelo, Sherlock left and headed home. He was deeply lost in thought and again didn’t notice the man several people behind following him. 

 

Once home Sherlock went directly up to his flat expecting to find John home. After all he did have several days of drinking to get out of his system. 

“John?” he called. There was no answer. Sherlock walked into the kitchen and saw the biscuits were gone and the coffee pot clean. He continued on to his room. Of course John wasn’t lying in front of his bedroom door. But in Sherlock's room his blanket had been returned and the bed made up. There was also a short handwritten note sitting on the pillow.

 

**Sherlock,**

**Thank you for looking out for me these past couple of days. I am sorry you had to put up with me in that state. I was a real dickhead. Forgive me. I’m headed out, be back later tonight.**

**John**

 

Where on earth could John be out to? Stamford had called the rest of the week off. 

Oh well. Sherlock went and had himself a shower, trying not to think too hard. But that’s all he really does isn’t it?

After his shower, he dressed in his best dressing gown and sat in his chair, attempting to watch some television. Unfortunately he couldn't focus on it. Getting up Sherlock decided to try and visit his mind palace, to maybe help sort everything in his head out; to maybe get a small reprieve from it in his walking hours.

Sherlock laid on the couch taking several deep breaths and closed his eyes. His hands came up on their own accord, steepled beneath his chin. He did several more breathing exercises trying to silence his brain long enough to get to his mind palace.

How much time passed by Sherlock didn’t know. When he came out of his mind palace there was a sleeping Watson lying atop him. His head resting right below his steepled hands. Now that Sherlock was fully aware, he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He also had no way of sneaking off without waking John in the process. 

Sherlock sighed dramatically, ruffling John’s short hairs in the process. John stirred, snuggling closer. Sherlock figured he might as well settle in and enjoy this while it lasted because the moment John woke up he was bound to start acting all weird. And then he would act weird so that he and John was on the same page. Sighing again, but this time much more subtly Sherlock loosely wrapped his arms around the sleeping doctor. He wondered if John had gone drinking again, and if that was the reason for this late night snuggle fest. Sherlock mused that he would need to caution John about his drinking as well. And that was sure to go over well with John.

 

Sherlock must of dozed off while stroking John’s back. He was roused awake by John trying his best to untangle himself and sneak away. Sherlock decided to allow the man to do just that. He obviously wasn’t ready for any sort of confrontation. Sherlock watched through slitted lashes as John quietly stole away. Funny, he didn’t carry himself like he was drunk. Was it possible that John had laid with him completely sober and then chickened out of it completely? 

Despite the slightly dire circumstances, Sherlock found himself smiling. At least he knew he wasn’t the choice of a barely lucid drunk John. He was also the choice of a completely sober John. Well, there was a chance that John was not completely sober but he was clearly not intoxicated beyond reason as the nights before. 

 

John lay across his bed upstairs in his room. What on earth had he been thinking? When he came in tonight he saw Sherlock lying there deep in his mind palace, and he thought, okay I’m just going to do it tonight; I am going to tell him how I feel. He’d sat there for over an hour and when Sherlock still hadn’t gotten up he’d lain with him. John wrapped himself ground his best friend's prone form and fell asleep. And when he woke up to find Sherlock now asleep with one of his arms around him, he panicked. He didn’t know if Sherlock had woken up and saw John and then went to sleep or if he just went from mind palace to sleep and had no clue John had even been there. How was he going to face Sherlock tomorrow? He should’ve had that talk with him  _ before  _ lying with him without his knowledge. He was such a bloody fool. And now things might get so bloody awkward if Sherlock was aware of John lying with him. He guess he would just find out in a couple of hours. 

 

Downstairs John was surprised to find a plate of hot food at his usual place setting along with a cup of hot coffee. Black. Just the way he like it. “Sherlock?” John called out, but there was no answer. He walked to Sherlock’s room it was open with no sign of the great detective. John sat and ate the food, it wasn’t half bad. He wondered if Sherlock had prepared it and left it or if Mrs. Hudson was behind it. When he was done eating he picked up his dishes and was again surprised when he found a note under the now empty plate. 

 

**Good Morning John,**

**I trust that you slept well. Hope you found breakfast agreeable. No poison or drugs, just food. I don’t know what time I will be back.**

**\- SH**

 

John smiled. He didn’t know what had gotten into Sherlock, but it was nice to have his attention. John was sure Sherlock would find a way to make him regret it, but for now he would bask in it. 

 

John still had several days left of his holiday, he had no plans and no cases. And no Sherlock. Pity the last one. What was he to do with his time? He looked about the kitchen and noticed Sherlock had straightened up. His usual hodge podge of odds and ends were nowhere to be found. And all of his science equipment was neatly stored away. Were they having company later? No, even if they were, Sherlock never cleaned up, not even for company.

John walked into the sitting room, it too had been cleaned. When did Sherlock even have the time to do this? He was certain that it was it’s usual mess last night when he had gotten in. 

The state of their shared space left John feeling like he was missing something. You would think he would be use to that considering he was always miles behind Sherlock’s own thinking. 

 

John sat in his chair and noticed that the day's paper was sitting on the small tea table by his chair. “Alright then.” John settled back and began reading the paper, he liked starting his day out by doing so. 

Some time later he heard footsteps on the stairs leading to their flat and then the door being pushed opened. Looking over he jumped to his feet; Sherlock was juggling several bags of groceries. “Here, let me help.” John grabbed a bag that was dangerously close to tumbling from Sherlock’s grasp. 

“Thank you John.”

The men sat the bags on the table and put the food away in silence. When that was done John faced Sherlock. “Sherlock, what is this all about?”

“Hmm? What is what all about? We needed groceries, I was up so I went and got them.”

“No, I'm not talking about  _ just  _ the groceries. You’ve also cleaned up. You never do any of those things.”

“You’re right. But It’s time I start pulling my own weight around here. I’m sorry I haven’t done so in the past, but I will do my best to do so in the future.”

John smiled warmly at Sherlock, “Yeah, well cooking for me wasn’t necessary.”

“I am aware.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do it, it’s not your job.”

“No, but it was my pleasure. Now that we got that out of the way, as your friend, I feel I need to caution you about your drinking as of late.”

“I’m good Sherlock. I only drank those nights with Mike. I didn’t even go to a bar last night.”

“Oh? New girlfriend?”

“No. Just needed to get out and clear my head a bit. I walked around that’s it.”

“And did you? Clear your mind a bit?”

John looked down and away from Sherlock, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, I thought I did.”

“But now you’re not certain?”

“Yes. No.” John sighed, frustration evident in his stance. “I don’t know Sherlock.”

“Okay. We don’t have to discuss it if you don’t wish to.”

“Actually, Sherlock, would you have a seat. I think you and I need to have a long overdue conversation.”

Sherlock wrung his hands behind the chair back and out of sight of John. “What is this about John, is everything okay?”

John sat down wiping a hand over his face before looking up at Sherlock. “Were you awake- no, did you wake up last night before- before I went up to my room?” John felt like he was going to pass out. He was so bloody nervous; his hands were sweaty and he felt like the room was suddenly one hundred degrees.

Sherlock met John’s gaze, he could read the other man's nervousness clearly. “Yes.”

“When?”

“As you were going up to your room.”

“Huh. So, you were aware of me being on the couch with you?”

“Yes.”

“And…?”

Sherlock squinted at John, “And what?”

“You aren't pissed or weirded out by it?”

Sherlock paused before answering, his pause made John nervous. Maybe he should have just left it alone. Sherlock had obviously decided not to mention it and he wasn’t making a big deal about it or acting weird, so why did John have to go and muck it all up.

“I’m not sure how to answer your question John.”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. We should just drop it. Sherlock walked over to stand before John, “I’m not angry. I’ not weirded out by it per se. But I am nervous and uncertain what it all means. When you’ve been drinking you say some rather interesting things.”

John looked up at Sherlock mortified, he could only imagine what he’d said in the past couple of days. Especially considering the state he has been in and what Stamford told him he had said at the bar. John rubbed a hand over his face again, unsure of what to say next.

 

“Woohoo! Boys, you have a visitor.” Mrs. Hudson called from the sitting room. 

Sherlock looked down at John catching his eye, “We’re not done with this conversation.”

“Course not.” John mumbled as Sherlock walked to the sitting room.

 

In the sitting room sat a man, in his early thirties, he held a physical, high stress job and he appeared to be slightly uncomfortable at the moment. Whatever brought him to their home he wasn't happy about or didn’t want to do it at the very least Sherlock surmised.

“Thank you for seeing me. My name is Sebastian Moran. I have a rather unusual request, I have a case that I believe you might be interested in Mr. Holmes, but it is of a very sensitive nature and I ask that you come to the location of the- interesting incident.”

“All right. Just allow Dr. Watson and I to get our coats and we can be on our way.”

“Unfortunately Mr. Holmes, my employer wishes to have as few people involved as possible, I must request that Dr. Watson remain here.”

Sherlock looked at John and then back to their guest. “Well I will have to dutifully decline the case. I am in great need of my colleague, he is a great help with my cases.”

“Blogging about it, and inaccurately I might add.” Sebastian Moran said snidely.

“Excus-” Sherlock began.

“No Sherlock, it’s quite all right. I know you are looking for a case, I am perfectly okay with sitting this one out.” 

“Absurd, I have a case right here.” Sherlock looked at John meaningfully. 

“Go Sherlock, solve the case and then we can wrap up the case here.”

“All right then, if you insist.”

“I do. Go.”

Sherlock snagged his mobile phone, keys and coat, following their guest out the door.

 

Roughly two hours later Sherlock stormed back into the flat ripping his coat off in a huff. “Unbelievable.” he muttered. “John? John?” There was no answer. Where could he be? He was supposed to wait for Sherlock’s return. Sherlock ran up the stairs to see if maybe John was simply napping. He wasn’t there. 

Sherlock returned downstairs, maybe he was nervous still about their unfinished talk. Sherlock walked to his own room as he sent a text to John.

 

**I’m home. Where are you?**

**\- SH**

 

In his room Sherlock stopped short, there was a bouquet of flowers on his bed and an envelope. He smiled. John was a romantic, but this was completely unexpected, especially considering the way he had been acting in the kitchen. Sherlock grabbed the flowers and card and returned to the kitchen placing the flowers in a rather large two hundred and fifty milliliter beaker; they had no vases. Once he had the flowers settled on the table he sat down and opened the envelope. It was a letter with a glossy picture. Sherlock left the picture in the envelope and pulled out the letter first.

 

**Sherlock,**

**I hope you like the flowers I got you. Blood red like the blood currently flowing from John Watson’s nose and mouth. He’s such a resilient man. Strong and brave. I see why you’re sweet on him. But I propose you broaden your horizons and see there are far better suited options for someone of your caliber. Why limit yourself to someone so ordinary?**

**I know you like games Sherlock, so let’s play a game. And if you win, I will return to you your commoner. And if I win, let's just say, it is in John’s best interest for you to win. I’ll be in touch sexy.**

 

**\- James Moriarty**


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock read the letter two more times, he was slow to comprehend, or refusing to believe what he was reading. With shaking fingers he snaked the picture out of the envelope. It was a picture of John as he was before Sherlock left. Well almost. In the picture, John was sitting in his chair glaring at whomever was talking the photo, his mouth and nose was indeed bleeding and he was holding the newspaper that he had been reading earlier this evening.

Sherlock had to fight the urge to ball up the photo in his hand. Once he calmed down he called Lestrade. “Please come right away, John has been kidnapped.” Sherlock spoke and hung up before Lestrade could get a word in besides answering with his name.

Sherlock then called John’s phone, and to his dismay heard it ringing in the sitting room.

Angry, he turned, picked up the beaker with flowers and threw it against the wall.

 

Mrs. Hudson came running up the stairs. “What in heaven's name are you doing?” She stopped when she saw the raw anguish on Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock? What’s wrong dear? Where’s John?”

Sherlock dropped to his knees in the middle of the kitchen. “Someone has taken him Mrs. Hudson. Someone has taken my John.”

Mrs. Hudson didn’t comment on Sherlock’s wording. She had long suspected the two men had feelings for one another she was just waiting for them to realize it. But she also felt devastated at the news. She sat down heavily in the chair closest to Sherlock's own seat on the floor.

Minutes later Lestrade rushed into the room. “Sherlock? What do you mean John’s been kidnapped?”

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “What do you bloody think I mean? Somebody came into our flat, beat him, and left with him. Against his wishes, I might add, in case you thought he went voluntarily.”

“I hate to be that guy, but how do you know, was there a ransom letter or anything?”

Sighing quietly Sherlock gestured to the flowers strewn across the floor. “He left flowers on my bed with a handwritten letter and a picture of John. Lestrade took in the glass on the floor mixed in with the flowers and made his own conclusions. “Can I see the letter and picture, I will dust for prints.”

“They’re on the table. But I’m sure he was too careful to leave prints and if you do find any they will be mine alone.”

“All the same.” Lestrade picked up the picture first, cursing when he took in the state of John’s appearance. He placed the picture face down on the table and picked up the letter. After reading it, he looked at Sherlock. “So do you know who this Moriarty person is?”

“No. If I did, I would have called you to come retrieve a body instead.”

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson admonished with her tone.

“Okay well I’m going to grab my fingerprinting kit.”

Lestrade walked out. When he returned and dusted the items he saw only two sets of prints on the envelope, picture and letter. “Bloody hell.”

Sherlock popped up. “I won’t say I told you so. Get out.”

Mrs. Hudson more familiar with Sherlock’s  emotional volatile state simply left without an argument.

“Wait! You called me here!” Lestrade argued.

“A momentary state of desperation; won’t happen again.”

“Now look Sherlock, I like John and I want to do whatever I can to help.”

“Then allow me to handle it.”

“Give me something to go on Sherlock!”

“You want something to go on, here is the only details the kidnapper has allowed me to gleam about himself. He has considerable influence, likes the finer things in life, is use to being in control and considers himself to be extraordinary and a self proclaimed genius. Do what you will with it but do it out of my flat.” Sherlock said in a rush of words, only stopping to take a breath once he was done speaking.

 

Sherlock locked up after Lestrade left. What was he to do without John? How was he suppose to find his missing doctor without any real clues? The only clues allowed to him was Moriarty’s way of gloating and bragging. Ugh! He needed real clues! Even the stationery was nothing spectacular. Just generic high-end stationery.

 

Sherlock snatched up John’s mobile and went to his room to sulk. He couldn’t very well do anything else until he knew something more about John. This James Moriarty character said he would contact Sherlock. It was just a matter of when and how.

Sherlock retraced his steps from the past 2 hours. Nothing of significance had happened. Actually the preposterous case he had been called away on. That in itself was a clue. He was such an idiot. He should have known something was wrong the moment Moran asked that he come alone. No client, no matter how embarrassing the case had tried to separate him and John, everyone understood they were a package deal. But because Sherlock had been willing to have anything distract him from the impending heart to heart with John, he’d been totally blindsided and taken for a fool.

Sherlock went and retrieved the picture and letter and returned back to his room. Sitting in the middle of his bed crossed legged he took several deep breaths and then read the letter again. Trying to garner whatever information he could from it.

**Sherlock,**

**I hope you like the flowers I got you. Blood red like the blood currently flowing from John Watson’s nose and mouth. He’s such a resilient man. Strong and brave. I see why you’re sweet on him.**

That bit implied that Moriarty had been watching John and Sherlock for sometime. Maybe even had the place bugged.

 

**But I propose that you broaden your horizons and see there are far better suited options for someone of your caliber. Why limit yourself to someone so ordinary?**

This bit told Sherlock that the kidnapper fancied himself to be smarter than the average person, and considered himself _better_ than everyone else. Not to mention the first bit seemed as if the bloke was keen on Sherlock in some manner.

 

**I know you like games Sherlock, so let’s play a game. And if you win, I will return to you your commoner. And if I win, let's just say, it is in John’s best interest for _you_ to win. I’ll be in touch sexy.**

**\- James Moriarty**

And lastly, Moriarty thought Sherlock was on the same level intellectually as himself. Had a deep insight into Sherlock’s personality type. James Moriarty was not above illegal activities, aside from the kidnapping, Sherlock would wager the man was also acclimated to violence and wouldn't hesitate to kill John if things didn’t go accordingly. And most notable, James Moriarty wanted recognition for his cleverness. Not from the legions of ordinary people, but from someone he considered his equal.

The sexy bit he imagined was just Moriarty’s attempt to keep Sherlock on edge.

 

Sherlock’s phone went off. Dropping the letter Sherlock snatched his phone from his pocket almost ripping his pocket in the process. It was a text from an unknown number.

**Sherlock. I was going to make you wait a couple of days to find out what, if anything has happened to Capt. Watson. But I couldn’t wait for the game to start. Would you like a hint to get you started?**

**JM**  

Sherlock hurriedly sent a response. **I know you were behind the case of the two lovers case. You just wanted to separate John and I.**

**\- SH**

**Very good then you must have found the hint in the case. Very well, contact me when it is solved. You have my number. XOXO**

  **JM**

Sherlock racked his brain. He had to actually solve that case? What bloody for? Sherlock was beyond frustrated. What did that stupi- ohhh.

The case that the fiend Sebastian Moran had called him out for was about a missing lover. And after hearing the particulars, Sherlock was sure the missing lover had voluntarily left the other. But what if that wasn’t the case? Sherlock needed to make a mental list of everything he could about the case and maybe he should visit the location again.

 

Sherlock had been enraged after Sebastian had taken him to to Thames River and explained the case. He had felt like the man and his employer were simply having a bit of fun with his profession. He now saw that this Moriarty guy was clever, he was several steps ahead of Sherlock, which considering he put the game in motion, he should be. But now Sherlock needed to catch up and get John home safely.

 Sebastian had told Sherlock that his employer represented someone who was well known for his looks, and had his choice of suitors, but ultimately he had chosen to settle down with someone equally as good looking and also known for their looks. Everything was going well in their relationship; they went and did everything together and even had that annoying little habit of finishing each other’s sentences. (Sebastian had said cute habit, but Sherlock substituted the correct word of annoying in his own playback version of the story.) Sebastian told him that the happy couple had gone for a walk along the Thames River, for no reason in particular, other than the missing individual had a sudden urge to be close to the water. The couple had walked in silence and stood close to the edge of the river. Several long minutes pass by, when the client looked up, his significant other was gone. No trace of him anywhere. The client stated that he looked everywhere for his partner finally calling friends and family members asking if they had seen or heard from him. He got different versions of the same answer time and time again.

All of his his family and friends insisted he hadn’t been dating anyone. They all acted as if his partner never existed. It drove the man crazy and had him doubting his own sanity. He stopped eating, stopped talking, he just stopped living. He was essentially fading away.

Thinking back on it, something about the story felt familiar to Sherlock, maybe he had heard about the case before. He grabbed his coat, and the two mobile phones. He was going back to the Thames. Snagging his keys on the way out Sherlock felt determined to solve this before the night’s end.

 

Back at the Thames, Sherlock took the exact route Sebastian had taken him on. He wasn’t sure if there was any significance in the trail itself, but better to be prudent about this sort of thing than to regret it later.

Sherlock searched for clues as he went along. Even the smallest of details had a way of telling Sherlock part of the story. Down by the water's edge he noticed something he hadn’t while he had been here with Sebastian; marks on the edge in the silt, like someone had knelt there.

Sherlock was positive Moran had not knelt or squatted down in any way while out here with Sherlock, which meant this was deliberate. It was a clue from Moriarty. But what on Earth could it mean?

Completely unconcerned with contaminating a crime scene or his clothes, Sherlock knelt down in the markings, he wanted to see what the client had seen. He didn’t feel the cold squish of the mud between his fingers or the sharp pricks of small stones on the shore as they jabbed at his knee with their uneven edges. Sherlock observed. All that he saw from this angle was his own reflection. His. Reflection.

Sherlock was suddenly jettisoned through his own mind as he tried to recall why this stance and the story seemed familiar to him. Moments later Sherlock stood smiling. He was confident that he'd figured it out. Ooh, Moriarty was indeed a clever one. Pulling out his phone he sent a text to the unknown number.

**There was never a partner. No one went missing. Your client was none other than Narcissus, the Greek hunter from Thespiae in Boeotia who was known for his beauty. He was the son of the river god Cephissus and nymph Liriope. Narcissus was so vain he fell in love with himself upon seeing his own reflection in a river. He eventually wasted away at the water’s edge because he couldn’t bear being separated from his image. He neither ate nor drank.**

**So in a sense, as it pertains to this cas, his partner never went missing, because he didn’t exist, in your version, he simply woke from the disillusionment.**

**\- SH**

**Very good Sherlock. Narcissus was an interesting fellow, you could learn a lot from him. I am very pleased you figured this out so quickly, oh the fun we will have.**

**JM**

**Where is John? I’ve solved your case!**

**\- SH**

**You’ve solved one of several. I did warn you that this was a game. Play the game or lose the prize. I’m be in touch.**

  **JM**

Sherlock dialed the number but there was no answer. Figures.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 and 9. I had a tough time writing with the U.S. election going on...sigh.

“Dammit!” Sherlock screamed. Lucky for him he was alone on the bank of the Thames. It was true that Sherlock enjoyed games of the mind and such, but never at the expanse of John. He had never willingly or knowingly put John in real danger. And something told Sherlock that Moriarty was dangerous. One of the most dangerous individuals he had encountered in a long while. 

Moriarty had stated there was a clue in the case. John would probably name it something ridiculous, and here Sherlock was simply referring to it as the case. Sherloc was also told there would be more cases. Neither here nor there. What was the clue? And what was it for? To find John perhaps. Sherlock made his way back up the bank to the street, heading home.

 

John sat in the middle of a nondescript room, his head hurt. Bad. That S.O.B. Moriarty had a woman take him on. John didn’t hit women; and he guess Moriarty was counting on that. He had waltzed into their flat with this blonde woman, and to be honest if she hadn’t been knocking him about, he would’ve thought she was sorta attractive. She hadn’t even given him a chance to defend himself. Moriarty walked in and she right behind him. John was asking Moriarty what he wanted and she pistol whipped him. Didn’t even hesitate, hit him three times in quick succession and then pointed the bloody gun at him. Even though he had a strict rule about hitting women he wanted to hit this one with her smug smile. 

Moriarty had made him sit in his chair and hold up the day’s paper showing the date. And John sat there glaring as he watched Moriarty prepare a handwritten letter while wearing gloves, take it and flowers and lay them on Sherlock’s bed. Inwardly he groaned. Poor Sherlock would return and not find him and then see the flowers, and all things considered would think they were from him until he opened and read the letter. He wished he could save him from this. But he couldn’t even save himself at the moment.

“Why are you doing this?” John questioned Moriarty. 

“Why not? Everyone loves a good game. Well maybe not you, you’re, hmm how do I say it- ordinary! You wouldn’t understand a game of this caliber.”

“Oh. Is that why you’re doing this? Because you think Sherlock and you are on the same level? That he might see how clever you are and become smitten? Well I have news for you, Sherlock doesn’t feel things like  _ ordinary  _ people _.  _ You’re wasting your time”

“Do you know what my plan is exactly? Of course you don’t your mind is much too...simple. I  _ know  _ Sherlock  _ feels _ . And he has a heart, I’m going to burn that heart right out of him. But, if he happens to start seeing things my way, I’ll welcome him to the dark side with open arms and maybe an open mouth kiss.” Moriarty pantomime an extremely sloppy kiss. 

John couldn’t help but be disgusted by Moriarty’s display. He looks over to the woman, she was watching him. She was a petite blonde with short hair. She carried herself as if she’d had military training. How on earth had she ended up working for this nutcase? Women in general didn't usually end up in these lines of work.

“John, I know you don’t understand my reasonings, I mean how could you? But Sherlock is, and I think you will agree with me here, Sherlock is special, unique and wholly extraordinary. He needs to shine and allow his intellectual prowess to be admired. I also believe he has allowed menial minds of ordinaries like you, his brother and that D.I. Greg Lestrade taint his greatness. He needs someone to help coax it out of him.”

“And you believe that man is you?” John asked, contempt dripping from each word.

“Course. Who else? I’ve watched Sherlock for quite sometime and I know him better than he knows himself. I can predict what he will do even before he acts on it. You too. I knew you would suggest Sherlock go without you, because you’re such a bleeding heart, always looking out for everyone else's happiness. But what about Captain John Hamish Watson’s happiness? Raised by an abusive and homophobic father, had to watch as his sister was physically abused; too scared to stand up to daddy.” Moriarty mocked. He came in close to John. “Nobody to protect the Watson duo. So you went to Bart's sending your money home to your sister in her young age. By time you went into the military Harriet was a fulltime disappointment.” 

John lurched up and headbutted Moriarty, catching him in the center of his face. John flashed a smile as he saw blood blossoming from the mad man’s nose. His elation was short lived, just as quick as the smile that had spread across his face, he was pistol whipped yet again by the blonde. He felt a cut open up over his eye. 

Moriarty laughed, pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbed at his nose. “So explosive John. That temper of yours may be the end of you; careful, careful.” Moriarty walked around John, placing his handkerchief back in his pocket. “It’s apparent that you admire Sherlock for his intelligence. I believe when you are with Sherlock, you appreciate a clever case yourself; I follow your blog you know. But again, I must insert my opinion, you drag Sherlock down John. He has to lower himself to your capabilities of understanding, your mediocrity will be his undoing. His mind will start to go and then he just will cease to be the Sherlock we all know, love and hate.”

John didn’t respond, but Moriarty knew he wouldn’t, John avoided confrontation when all possible, except for those rare times that he lead with his heart. “So, anyways John, I am going to do us both a favor, you and I. I am going to shape this little game in your favor, make you appear to be more clever than you are.”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

“No John, like I said, we are similar in a way. Only, I’m determined to win.” Moriarty gave an amiable smile, placed his hands in his pockets and then turned and walked out of the room. 

Moriarty hadn’t bothered restraining John. A man like Moriarty would be both cocky and prepared. John wasn’t going to try and escape. He was sure this blonde ruffian wasn’t Moriarty's only line of defense. And in John's mind, he was proven right moments later when the blonde left as well, not even sparing him a second glance. 

John took a good look around the room. There were no windows and the only door was in and out of the room. In the room there was a small bed, a chair, and a bathroom with no door; but there was plenty of cameras.

When John was being led to the room, he had noticed the hallway had a ton of surveillance, plenty of doors and little nook and cranies where a gun could be fired at will from any number of hiding places. 

Now that John was alone he walked to the bathroom and was thrilled to see the bathroom had a shower and there was a towel and wash rag in there. He wet the rag and cleaned up his face, wiping all the blood away. The cut stung and his head still hurt like the dickens. 

John went to the bed and laid down on his back, hands tucked under his head. He wasn’t really concerned right now because Moriarty had said in a way that he needed John for his plan. Although John did wish he knew what Moriarty had planned. 

Roughly an hour and a half later the door opened and the blonde woman walked in carrying a napkin with two sandwiches on it. She held it out to him. “What’s your name? Just because you beat me over the head doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.” John inquired.

“Mary.”

“Thank you for the food Mary. Can I interest you in a bite?”

Mary smiled, not exactly a pleasant smile but more of a smile saying she knew what John was on about. “All right. Am I to have a bite from  _ each _ sandwich?”

“Naturally.”

“All right, break me a piece off of both.” Mary waited patiently as John tore of a piece of both sandwiches and passed them to her. She popped the first piece into her mouth as she stared John down and then following it with second after she’d swallowed the first bit. “See? No one is trying to poison you.” Mary said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah, well now at least I know for sure.”

“You never know anything for sure with Moriarty.” Mary said as she walked out the door.

What on earth was she on about? It seemed like an odd comment. John ate his sandwiches wishing he had something to wash it down with. 

John got up to go to the bathroom intending to drink out of the faucet, but before he got halfway across the room he felt sluggish and disoriented, like he was walking through quicksand and looking down a tunnel. John Watson fell, to him it felt like it all happened in slow motion. He gradually felt himself sinking lower and lower until wham! He felt his temple crack against the floor; two heartbeats later and he was out. 


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock sat across from Mycroft, neither man speaking. Sherlock hadn’t slept in over 24 hours now. There had been no updates or any contact from Moriarty since Sherlock had spoken with him yesterday on the Thames. He was beside himself with concern; so much so, he’d contacted his brother, something he’d have preferred not to do under most circumstances.

“Are you sure you don’t know this James Moriarty, or had any previous dealings with him?” Mycroft asked needlessly.

Sherlock stared at his older brother as if he was two seconds away from throttling him. “Just tell me what you have on him Mycroft.”

“Why would he target you brother mine, or take John? Most people would assume you care for no one but yourself.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled, slamming his palms flat on the table.

“We don’t know much. Only that he seems to be a criminal genius.”

“Yes thank you, I could’ve gotten that bit of info from the inside of a fortune cookie.” Sherlock mumbled.

“We can’t actually link any crimes to him. He seems to be the brain behind numerous outlandish schemes as well as your ordinary run of the mill crimes. People go to him and ask for help committing said crimes.”

“A consulting criminal? Interesting. Only one of his kind I imagine.” Sherlock muttered to himself already going through possible scenarios where he could have come across the fiend.

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?”

“Course not, I'm thinking.”

“Please don’t hurt yourself.” Mycroft shot back with his usual dry wit. “Sherlock.”

“What! Why are you still here?”

“As I was saying, do you truly not see the similarities between yourself and this Moriarty character? Well, more like opposites. Maybe that is what has drawn him to you? He seems to be taken with you, or at the very least trying to make it appear as if he is. Could he be a jilted suitor?”

“What? Heavens no, I haven’t had a relationship in ages, no time.”

“Yes. I know. It breaks mummy’s heart.”

Sherlock turned and looked at Mycroft, “Don’t you have some small country to invade? Goodbye Mycroft.” Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.

Mycroft stood, twirling his umbrella, looking around the flat one last time before letting himself out of the flat.

  
So, Moriarty was a consulting criminal. People came to him looking for assistance carrying out crimes. And Mycroft claimed to not have any info on him, criminal genius would be right. There were a few cases in his past that were absolutely brilliant that he had trouble believing the person who was “behind” the crime could have really pulled it off. Maybe he had crossed paths with Moriarty before.

Enticing him out of the house with a case was not enough to go on, he had a website after all that demonstrated his hunger for knowledge. Along with John’s blog that showcased him at his very best. John always made him seem brilliant and capable.

John. He hoped Moriarty was a civilized individual, that he was feeding and looking out for John’s basic human needs.

* * *

John woke up to a funny taste in his mouth and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Sitting in front of him on the chair was Mary. She looked unhappy to say the least; she had an empty glass in her hand. When she saw he was awake she stood and retrieved some water from the faucet and came back offering it to John. “Am I supposed to trust that it isn’t poisoned?”

“Kind of hard to poison running water.”

John sat up. “True enough but there are other ways.”

“If it makes you feel better, I had no clue about the sandwiches. I blacked out for a little while. I guess not as long as you because you had ingested more.”

“And how long was I out exactly?” John stood up and walked to the bathroom drinking from the faucet directly.

“Give or take eighteen hours.”

John sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “Well, do I get updates on the advancement of this- what kidnapping? Scheme? Plan?”

“Not my call.”

John noticed there was a folder under her arm.

“I was instructed to give you this to look over. You can't keep them though.”

John hesitantly took the folder from Mary.

Opening it up John immediately felt sick. Why would she or Moriarty think he would want to keep these. John kept flipping through them, there was a total of about twelve pictures. By the time he reached the end he understood why they would think he might want to keep any of the pictures. The very first one was a surveillance shot of their sitting room. It made John feel sick to know that Moriarty was watching the flat. The next couple of pictures made him feel even worse, like he had swallowed lead and it was weighing him down as it was slowly killing him. They were pictures of John and Moriarty in compromising positions. To an outsider it would appear they were in the early stages of having a shag. In none of the pictures could you clearly see John’s face except one, and in it, Moriarty’s head looked as though it was in his lap and John looked like his eyes was closed in pleasure. John knew the truth. His eyes was closed because they had drugged him and posed in however they wanted so they could make convincing intimate photos of John and Moriarty. At least they were both still dressed in all the photos. And when John got to the last several photos he thought he was going to cry. They were more surveillance photo’s of their flat. But these were slightly older pictures, they were from a couple of days ago. The first photo was of Sherlock holding John while he spoke to Stamford at the door. You could clearly see John placing a kiss to Sherlock’s neck. Neither Sherlock or Stamford had mentioned this. Another one showed the date for the day prior, Sherlock was lying on the couch and John was almost laying on top of him with his arm across Sherlock’s middle. John could clearly see Sherlock’s arms around him and he was placing a kiss to the top of his head. But most shocking was there appeared to be tears in Sherlock’s eyes.

John recalled waking up the next morning on the couch. He’d even asked Sherlock about that night. Why would Sherlock lie. He looked at the date again, it was definitely the night that he had first went out with Stamford.

  
As Mary was gently taking the photos back, Moriarty walked in grinning ear to ear. “Did you like those? What do you think Sherlock will say when he see those of us?”

John exploded off the bed going for Moriarty. He heard the click of a gun and was very tempted to not care and still strangle the life out of Moriarty.

“Oh, what a temper, and very telling. Have we found your pressure point John?”

John stared holes into Moriarty as his chest heaved. “Don’t worry Johnny boy, I won’t be using these just yet. These will be my coup de grâce. If it comes to that. But either way when this is all done with, if you survive I don’t think Sherlock will still want you.” Moriarty smiled and gave John a once over and then walked out of the room with Mary on his heels. John fell back on the bed, legs dangling over the side and arm over his eyes. He thought back to the pictures in the file. Sherlock lied about seeing him the first night. Sherlock held him. And kissed him, maybe not a romantic kiss, but for Sherlock that was monumental. It was a keen to Sherlock actually saying he cared for John. _Wow_ , the image of Sherlock holding him again made him feel all weepy again. He hoped to see Sherlock again, to iron this mess out. Those two pictures alone told him that Sherlock did indeed care for him. And he could tell Sherlock about his feelings without fear of being turned down.

* * *

 

Sherlock paced back and forth in the sitting room. He still hadn't figured out what the clue could be in the first case nor had he heard from Moriarty. He was almost insane with both worry and anticipation.

He knew John was far more clever than people gave him credit for. He saw things that others did not, and unlike Sherlock, he had the self control to keep it to himself and use the info when needed and not a moment before. Sherlock admired a great deal of things about John Watson, but his ability to see and store information on a personable level and the ability to relate to other was the one thing Sherlock admired most. He wished, secretly of course, that he was more like John in that aspect.

If Sherlock couldn’t find a way to get John home, he knew John would find his own way home. He wouldn’t dare leave Sherlock alone like this.

  
Sherlock’s phone went off.

  
**Hi.**

**I’m sure you have just been restless with excitement. So how about a little teaser to get the blood flowing? And if you solve it quickly enough I will let you speak with your pet. How’s that?**

  
**Two cars were involved in an accident in the center of town. The man who was driving a little green car, had overtaken a big black car. The driver had misjudged the distance between him and the on-coming traffic and had to swerve back in, causing the black car to swerve and crash into a shop window. When the occupants of the cars were examined everyone in the green car was okay, but in the black car was one dead man. However, the driver of the green car was not charged with manslaughter, why was this so?**

**\- JM**

  
Sherlock gave a humorless laugh. Was Moriarty serious. This was easy. Maybe a little too easy. Should he answer with his proposed answer or dig deeper. Maybe Moriarty was looking for something else other than the obvious answer.

  
**One car was a hearse, and the body that of the funeral honoree.**

**\- SH**

  
**That was quick. Either you're desperate to speak to John or that was too easy. John is quite...delicious, I understand why you keep him around. Maybe I should get a live in one. Oh wait! I have yours, no need to get my own. So, how bout one more, just to make sure I wasn’t too easy on you.**

**\- JM**

  
Sherlock stared at the phone, his grip tightening around the device, wishing it was Moriarty.

  
**A boy was born in 1955, he just had his 18th birthday today. How is this possible?**

**\- JM**

  
Sherlock groaned. Seriously. Did Moriarty _want_ him to speak with John?

  
**Are you serious? The boy wasn’t born in the year 1955, it was the hospital’s room number.**

**\- SH**

  
Sherlock waited for a response back. Nothing. He screamed out loud in lieu of throwing his phone across the room.

Sherlock began to wonder if had possibly read the riddle wrong and had answered incorrectly. He read the message again, no he was definitely right. He was sure of it.

The phone rang startling him. Sherlock hit the talk button so hard he might have bruised his finger. “John?”

“Sherrrlock. You sound downright desperate. Maybe I should hold out a little longer on any communications between you two.”

“Put John on the phone. You promised, I'm sure you're a man of your word.”

“You are in no position to be making demands; besides, promises were made to be broken. Just. Like. Bones.” There was a brief silence before Sherlock heard the heart wrenching, pain filled bellow of John in the background. “Hear how beautifully he sings for me?”

“Listen to me you pyschop-”

“Sherlock?” John interrupted in a stuttered half whisper.

“John? Are you okay? Where are you? What did he do to you?”

“Sherlock, I am fine.” John breathed out. “But, I must tell you, I'm sorry. Sorry for all of this.”

“What, sorry why? What are you apologizing for?”

Sherlock listened, waiting for a response, he heard a quiet, barely audible inhale of air.

“Sherlock?” John weezed.

“Yes!?”

“I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sherlock’s heart lurched at John’s tone. He sounded defeated and hopeless.

Hurriedly John added, “Sherlock, _Through the Looking Glass_ and Ech-”

The line went dead. Sherlock stared at the phone as if he was trying to comprehend why John was no longer on the other end.

* * *

John lay on the ground where he had fallen, he was holding his middle. Moriarty had kicked him hard in his leg, most likely causing a sprain before he had been allowed to speak with Sherlock. And when he had been going off script Moriarty had snatched the phone from him and kicked him in the stomach several times, being very carefully of his ribs. That act further cemented the fact in John’s mind that Moriarty wanted him alive and functional.

  
“What was that!? What was that!? Was it some kind of code the two of you have?” Moriarty shouted as he quickly kicked John twice more, one blow landing on his already injured leg and the other in the middle of his back. “Everything must go as planned, you will not ruin that for me.” Moriarty smoothed his hair down and straightened his clothes.

John groaned softly as he watched Moriarty walk from the room. Moments pass by and just when he think he has the strength to try to get up he feels the quick poke of a needle in his neck and he panicked, struggling against the invasion.

“Relax John. It will help with the pain.” Mary snaked an arm under his arms and helped him stand guiding him to the bed. “It’s sprained. Let me wrap it for you.”

John grimaced against the pain and looked at Mary speculatively. He watched as she left the room, leaving the door open. John fell back against the bed. They leave the door open and he’s too bloody hurt to even try and make a run for it.

John flinched as he felt Mary gently start to wrap his leg. He maneuvered himself into a reclining position and watched her work. She was very efficient and apparently had medical training. “Why are you working for him Mary?” John questioned, genuinely curious.

She glanced up at John and smiled an easy smile. “Simple really, I have no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

Her smile turned sad as she answered, “Not always.”

“Sherlock could help you. No matter what it is, I am positive he can.”

“You have such faith in this detective. I would like to meet him. I think I would like him.”

It was John’s turn to smile. “Nobody likes Sherlock.”

“Ahh, a bit of an acquired taste is he?” Mary gave a small giggle and John found himself smiling wider.

“Yeah he-”

Sebastian Moran walker in the room dressed in all black military gear. He looked far more formidable in this than he did when he had visited their flat under a different guise. “Mary. Jim would like to speak with you.”

Mary’s back was to Moran, she gave a small smile to John before setting her face in stone and turning to give Moran a hard but neutral look as she walked out the door.

Sebastian glanced down at Mary as she walked by. Once she was down the hall he walked over to John sitting on the edge of the bed close to the leg that Mary had just wrapped.

John was weary of the other man, he was watching him closely but still wasn't ready when Sebastian Moran reached out quick as lightning and pressed his thumb into the pressure point just under his ankle bone causing pain to shoot through his foot and up his injured leg. Without even thinking twice about it John kicked out with his other foot catching Moran in the side of the head; causing him to rock forward. John wrapped that same leg around his neck, dragging him down to the bed and applying pressure to Moran’s trachea. John thought he was getting somewhere until he felt the sting of yet another needle prick. Sebastian emptied the syringe into the back of John’s knee.

John quickly let go of Moran, but managed to get another well placed kick to the back of the man's head as he scrambled away. Moran grinned down at John from a safe distance away. John wondered what the man was smiling about right before he started to feel disoriented and nauseous; it felt like the room was spinning rapidly out of control and for the second time in twenty-four hours John passed out cold.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock paced the kitchen fuming, what the hell had happened? Moriarty had clearly hurt John, but what did John me by- well everything he said. The apology, and his statement about through the looking glass and echo. That had to have been the word he was about to say. There really were no other words that began in that way, at least not words he would expect John to use. _Through the Looking Glass_...a novel by Lewis Carroll. Echo...a sound or series of sounds caused by the reflection of sound waves from a surface back to the listener. Or, Sherlock thought Echo in this case could be the Echo from Greek legend. The one who fell in love with Narcissus. Was John giving him a clue about the first case? Or was this just a coincidence?

And surely John couldn’t be proclaiming his love for him at such a time. By saying he was- Echo. Echo! That was it. John was trying to tell Sherlock that everything he had been saying was the echo of someone else, in other words, Moriarty had scripted the phone call except for the last bit when John dropped the hint.

Happy that he felt like he was finally getting somewhere, Sherlock walked into the sitting room and sat in John’s chair thinking, there was more to this mystery to figure out.

 _Through the Looking Glas_ s was the sequel to Alice in Wonderlandl. In this book Alice went through a mirror and played a game of chess, unknowingly, was crowned queen, checkmated the Red Queen and woke up to holding her cat...Alice had came to the conclusion that it had all been a dream. But the author implied that Alice herself could be simply the product of the Red King’s dream; like life, we are but figment of someone else's imagination or dream.

What on earth was John trying to tell him. Sherlock jumped up pacing again. He couldn’t figure it out.

  
**If I said to you, _Through the Looking Glass_ , what would you think I meant?**

**\- SH**

  
**Surely not the book by Lewis Carroll so, I would think you were trying to tell me things aren’t what they seem.**

**\- M**

  
Sherlock smacked himself in the forehead. Of course. Why did he have to text Mycroft for that? He should have been able to figure it out on his own.

  
**Thank you.**

**\- SH**

  
**Are you feeling okay?**

**\- M**

  
Sherlock read the message rolled his eyes and tossed the phone onto his chair. Why couldn't Moriarty just be on with it? The sooner, the quicker Sherlock could solve the cases and get John back home.

  
Falling back into John’s chair, Sherlock ran a hand over his face, exhausted. He dozed off, his head lolling to the side. What seemed like only minutes later Sherlock's phone went off. Startled awake Sherlock called out for John before he remembered John wasn’t here. Grabbing his phone and mumbling a hello without seeing who was actually calling.

“Oh geeze Sherlock, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up. I have a case here I need you to come look at.”

“Lestrade. I’m kinda in the middle of my own case.” Sherlock yawned.

“I know, and I wouldn’t be calling you if it wasn’t either really important or connected to John’s disappearance.”

“So which is it?” Sherlock was clearly irritated.

“Both.”

This got Sherlock's attention and he sat up straighter, Lestrade’s words successfully knocking some of the grogginess away. “What?”

“A man came in the precinct saying he has killed multiple people. And that we should contact you to solve his crimes. If you succeed you’ll be that much closer to finding John Watson.”

“I’ll be right over.”  Sherlock anxious to get started was out of the flat and at Scotland Yard in under an hour.

 

Sherlock stood next to Lestrade looking through a one way mirror at their suspect. He looked to be a pretty average man, but according to himself he was a serial killer. “I am assuming he is a client of James Moriarty. But why on earth would he turn himself in? He has admitted to seven counts of first degree murder.”

“Yes but you have to solve it first. We have no bodies, no evidence, nothing but a confession.” Lestrade pointed out.

“I'll get to the bottom of this.” Sherlock walked around Lestrade and into the interrogation room.

Taking off his coat, Sherlock draped it over the back of the seat in which he would be occupying. Instead of sitting down right away, Sherlock loomed over the other man. “Care to explain how you are claiming to have killed seven people? They're just gone without any trace?”

“Uh un, not so fast Mr. Holmes. I will not be helping you lock me up. You have to figure this out on your own. All I can tell you is that each of my victims came with me willingly. They were also willingly killed. You must not only figure out who I killed, how I killed them, but also where their bodies are now.”

“Okay. Fine. Let’s say I play this game with Moriarty, why are you doing it? Why would you agree to be locked up for crimes you obviously meant to get away with?”

“That is also for you to figure out.”

To Sherlock the criminal sounded sad. That seemed a bit misplaced.

Sherlock turned and walked back out to Lestrade. “Okay. So give me everything you have and know about the man in there.”

Lestrade walked out, back to his office, Sherlock followed behind Lestrade wanting to be on with the whole matter but not wanting to aggravate and alienate the one person he needed most right now.

Lestrade grabbed a thick file off of his desk and passed it to Sherlock. “I don’t know if everything in here is tied to the murders of his victims. But who better to sort through it though and tell us what’s what. These are all the people we’ve had reported missing in the past year. This also contains everything we have on Jonathan Bell, the gentleman back there.”

Sherlock took the file eagerly from Lestrade. “Thank you. This may seem like an odd request, but do you have an empty room I could possibly use to sort through all this here?”

“Uh, sure right this way.” Lestrade lead Sherlock down to the basement level of Scotland Yard unlocking and turning on the light in an old defunct interrogation room.

“Thank you.”

  
Sherlock sat down with the file and started pulling paper out and into different stacks. He was already in a zone and didn’t even realize Lestrade was standing there staring at him.

Sherlock placed all the missing person over six months into one stack and the remaining missing person of six months and less he sorted into addition stacks of men and women. Any personal info on Jonathan Bell he placed in another stack still, but paused when he realized there was nothing in the file that contained business or financial information. “Jo-” Sherlock caught himself this time, John was not here. He looked up, fully expecting to find himself alone. Lestrade was sitting at the table with him. There was a wrapped sandwich along with a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. “Um, thanks.” Sherlock said awkwardly.

“No problem. Did you need something?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes. Why isn’t there any info on his financial status or even any business info, past jobs, anything of that nature?”

“Couldn’t find any.”

“Didn’t you think that was odd?”

“Yes, of course. But what could we do? We aren’t the British government, we don’t have hackers at our beck and call.”

“Course, I didn’t mean anything by it, just…okay then. I have separated-”

“Yes I see, missing persons by duration of time missing. I have the over six months stack.”

“I figure, I could be wrong, but I figure Moriarty’s obsession couldn’t have started more than six months ago, and even if it had, how long could he possibly been helping this bloke kill his victims?”

“You shouldn’t underestimate this guy. If he is obsessed with you, there is almost no limit to the things an obsessed individual will do and go through to be noticed by the object of their obsession. Just look at how far he has already gone. He’s kidnapped poor John and either coerced Mr. Bell to kill or has helped him kill. That is already a steep price, and he was willing to pay it.”

“I just can’t see anyone being that fanatical about me.” Sherlock muttered looking down at the stack in front of him.

“You’d be surprised mate. People care about you. And I recall hearing you tell someone before that love is a vicious motivator.”

“What are you implying; that this Moriarty guy fancies himself in love with me? Bollocks.”

“Well there is that, also,” Greg Lestrade paused, looking down and then back up at Sherlock, trying to gauge how he would respond to the next words out of his mouth.

“What? Just say it already.”

“I was going to say, also, John will do everything in his power to get away from that maniac. He’s not the damsel in distress that everyone thinks he is.”

“I know that.”

Lestrade looked Sherlock in the eyes, holding his gaze hostage. “Do you Sherlock? John...you and John have a- a tremendous bond. Hell, I have no clue what I’m talking about. But I know what I see whenever you two work with one another, look at one another. Especially when one of you think you have hurt the other or feels hurt himself. What I see is pure and unadulterated love. And it pains me, and sickens others that neither of you idiots see it for yourself. So all I‘m saying is, that John is as motivated to get back to you as you are to find him.”

Sherlock said nothing. He broke the eye contact, feeling extremely exposed. Who would’ve thought these words would be coming to him from Lestrade. One of the people he thought was as dim as a glow worm's armpit. Maybe the D.I. was more insightful than he gave the man credit for.

Sherlock decided to ignore the whole exchange. He cleared his throat and went back to the stack in front of him. In the short stack of men who went missing in the last six months two of them had been models. Sherlock set them to the side it was a connection between the missing people, you never ignore connections. He checked the stack of females who had also went missing in the last six months. There was three models. This didn’t bode well for Sherlock’s theory that all the victims would have went missing in the last six months. There was still three victims unaccounted for if all the victims were models.

Suddenly Sherlock and Lestrade looked up and spoke at the same time. “John Doe’s!”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade in a new light. Lestrade grinned. “I’ll go get the files, is there a specific criteria I should look for?”

“I’m thinking models.” Lestrade nodded and left. Sherlock shuffled through the stacks that Lestrade had, no models. He stuffed all the non model missing persons back into the file and picked up the black and white headshot of Jonathan Bell. He was either an inspiring actor or model. Sherlock took in the man’s features, he suppose he was a good looking man. He’d had obvious work done. But a nice looking bloke nonetheless, if you liked the pretty type.

  
Lestrade returned with a much thicker file then the one he had passed to Sherlock in his office. “All right, we have our work cut out for us.”

Sherlock screwed up his face at the file. “Are all of those seriously unknowns?”

“Yes, but they are all mixed up. It looks as though someone dropped all the files and just stuffed them back in and not in any sort of order.”

“Imagine that. Let’s get started then.”

* * *

John once again woke up after being forced into an unconscious state by unwanted drugs. He was in a semi reclined position, with part of his back up against the wall. And also like last time he had an extreme case of cotton mouth, but this time, no one was waiting in the room.

John went to get up to go to the bathroom for some water when he found that he was restrained to the bed. “Are you kidding me?” he mumbled under his breath. The door opened and Moriarty walked in alone. He carried a folder and a tall glass of chocolate milk. John’s thirst seem to kick up a notch at the sight of it.

  
“Hello John. You’ve been a bad boy, so I had to punish you, I' sure you understand. I will admit, honey, you look good in handcuffs. Anyways, I know you must be thirsty so I brought you a small treat. Hopefully you will behave for now on and I can continue to reward you.” Moriarty sat on the side of the bed, placing the folder in John's lap. He took a straw from the inside of his suit jacket, opened it and stuck it in the chocolate milk. “What do you say John, will you cooperate?” Instead of waiting for a reply, Moriarty held the straw to John’s mouth, running it back and forth across his bottom lip. Staring at John's mouth he pushed the straw up in between John’s lips, sighing softly as the tip disappeared.

John didn’t want to give this monster any pleasure in knowing how desperately he wanted the drink. When Moriarty pushed the straw between his lips, John gagged. His mouth was so dry he couldn't resist the drink. He took a long pull through the straw, involuntary closing his eyes as the sweet taste of the chocolate milk soothed his mouth and throat. When he reopened his eyes Moriarty was staring at him in a way that made John’s skin crawl.

“Oh I can see why Sherlock is so taken with you.”

“Are you going to undo the cuffs?” John asked, his voice a bit husky from the dryness.

“No, not yet. I have something to show you.”

John was instantly apprehensive, the last time he had been out Moriarty had taken some suggestive photos of the two of them. He could only imagine what Moriarty had thought of this time.

  
Moriarty scooped up the folder allowing his hand to graze over John’s crotch.

John fought to keep the revolution off his face, he was sure Moriarty wasn’t really interested in him, but more that he enjoyed making people uncomfortable. To his extreme surprise and discomfort Moriarty proceeded to climb on the bed beside him, laying his head against John’s chest. He pulled the first item from the folder, it was a picture of John and Moriarty.

“I rather like this one Johnny boy, it’s very convincing don't you think? The way your arm just comes up and wraps around my neck like so.” Moriarty demonstrated the position from the picture, walking his fingers up John’s chest, cupping the back of John’s neck and letting his arm rest against his chest. John exhaled heavily, trying to keep his temper in check. There was nothing he could do, he was completely at Moriarty’s mercy. And mercy was something he was sure Moriarty was in short supply of.

Moriarty pulled his arm away, showing John another photo, in this one, it was of John alone, his shirt was undone and his belt and button of his trousers were undone. It showcased his bruised body. He wasn’t sure if that had been the purpose of this one or if it was to serve as another sexy suggestive photo.

The next photo was of John and Mary, when Mary was dressing his injury. The look in John’s eyes was very tender, to someone who didn’t know the context of the photo they might think he was sweet on her. He wondered if Mary was purposely being nicer and nicer to him. Was she attempting to play nice with him so that his guard was down around her? He wouldn’t fall for it. He’d play the game, but he would be better at it then them. John relaxed against the bed. He breathe in and out several times, calming himself completely. “So what is the deal with these pictures? If you’re not going to use them until the end of this whole game, why continue to take them?”

“So that I have an array of pictures in different posti- excuse me, poses and situations. They’ll span the time you were here so that it would seem that you not only _fully_ cooperated, but enjoyed being here.”

“Handcuffs don’t exactly say happy to be here.” John stated, closing his eyes.

  
Moriarty snuggled into John, running a hand down his jaw. John kept his eyes closed as Moriarty continued to lazily run a finger down his neck, over his chest, along his biceps.

“I’m trying to picture you the way he does. Someone so smart, who is light years ahead of almost everyone, what could he possibly see in someone's as mundane and ordinary as you? Sure, you're nice to look at, but something like that would never hold Sherlock’s attention for long. What am I not seeing?” Moriarty contemplated out loud.

* * *

“Sherlock. We can’t keep going like this. Eat your sandwich please. I’ll get us some more coffee.”

“I’m fine. I must at least figure out all the victims first.”

“It’s been hours Sherlock, take a break.”

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade. “Fine. Go get more coffee and I’ll eat the bloody sandwich.”

“Thank you.” Lestrade breathed out, clearly relieved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote over 7000 words today, I will divide it up into 3 chapters. Hope you enjoy this budding story.

Sherlock sat in companionable silence eating with Lestrade. They had been sorting through the stack of Jane and John Doe’s for several hours. The file spanned the last ten years so they not only had to pull out the more recent unknowns, the ones from the past year, they then had to sort again in three separate stacks, over six months, under six months men, and under six months women. And that is where they stood at this moment.

“You don’t have to stay with me Lestrade. Scotland Yard never closes, I can see my way out when I’m done.”

“Nonsense. I told you, John is my friend too, I want to help. Besides if I leave now, you’ll still be here when I return for my next shift.”

“I will leave in an hour. Promise.”

Lestrade popped the last piece of his sandwich in his mouth and pulled the over six months stack to him. “Not bloody likely.”

Pushing the rest of his sandwich to the side Sherlock tackled the six months or less women stack.

Lestrade noticed Sherlock had only eaten half of his sandwich, but from what John told him, getting Sherlock to eat even that half should be considered a miracle. John had explained to him the detective didn’t eat while on a case, he was usually too wound up to do so. “Hey Sherlock, can you be straight with me for once?”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, what could he possibly want to know. “All right.”

“Why would Moriarty target you, and in this manner?”

Sherlock looked thoughtful.

“I mean, if he is as smart as you and your brother say he is, why would he take on you, someone who could actually catch him and hold him accountable? If he is a consulting criminal, helping others with their crimes but staying under the radar, why break habit now?”

“He’s bored with his status quo. He wants a challenge and he believes I can give him that. As for staying under the radar, that was never about not getting caught, he doesn’t care about that, it was simply that all those jobs were to menial to tie his name to. They meant nothing. Besides, Moriarty believes he is above the law and far too clever to get caught, by me or anyone else.”

Lestrade stared at Sherlock for a moment, it made Sherlock fidget. He had the distinct impression that the Detective Inspector was a lot like John in the aspect that he saw far more than he let on. He didn't like feeling exposed or seen, and he was sure Lestrade was seeing him now.

“Makes sense.” Lestrade finally said going back to his stack. “What are you going to do when you get John back home safe? Are you going to tell him how you really feel?”

Abruptly Sherlock dropped the papers he was holding, looking up at Lestrade he made sure his annoyance was evident, “Can we not talk about this?”

“Sure, sure. We can act like neither of us knows you two are so deep in love you can’t see the rest of the world for it.” Lestrade continued going through his stack, by time he’d finished he had pulled out four possible models; two females, two males.

And Sherlock had pulled out four as well three females and one male. Sherlock was already reading through the meager write ups on each person. After doing so he tossed two of the females back in with the rest, discarding the possibility that they were victims of this man.

“Let me see what you have.” Sherlock held his hand out to Lestrade. “What exactly made you pull these files out, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nonviolent deaths, state of dress and in one case, location.”

Sherlock smiled, “Nonviolent deaths?”

“Well yeah, Mr. Bell stated each of his victims agreed to be killed. So I would imagine it would have to be nonviolent.”

“Very good.”

Lestrade beamed. He kind of understood just a little how Molly or John felt when Sherlock paid them a compliment, even one so small.

Sherlock went through the four people that Lestrade had pulled. He kept two of the four.

“Okay, so far we have determined that his victims were all possibly models, both male and female. He possibly killed them because he felt slighted. I believe he was an inspiring model himself. Look at the headshot in his file. Only actors and models do those sort of things. He also told us that each victim agreed to being killed, so that makes me feel like they agreed unknowingly to their own murder, possibly being poisoned. We have three missing persons who fit this criteria and four unknowns that possibly fit this criteria.”

Lestrade jumped up clapping his hands. “Splendid. Let’s meet back here in the morning and go over each unknown and see if there was a cause of murder listed that can help us find the missing ones.”

Sherlock squinted at Lestrade. “Okaaay.” He stood as well and walked out ahead of Lestrade. Lestrade grabbed the unfinished sandwich, the empty water bottles along with the coffee cups. “Sherlock.”

“Hmm?”

“Could you get the door please?”

Sherlock turned seeing Lestrade’s hands full pulled the door shut and took the coffee cups from him.

“Thanks.”

“It is I who should be thanking you. You helped me get through all those files, it would have taken me twice as long otherwise.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

The men deposited the trash in the break room and proceeded to Lestrade’s office. The D.I. had brought Sherlock's forgotten coat in here, he passed it to him and shrugged into his own. “Sherlock, try and get some rest. John told me how you sometimes go for days without sleep, trying to get to the bottom of a case. You are no good to him half asleep. You’re smart you know what effect the lack of sleep has on the body.”

 

Sherlock looked at Lestrade, he saw the circles under his eyes, the unkempt clothing and hair. He was even more grateful to this man for helping him in spite of his own worries and problems. He wasn’t going to deduce Lestrade like he normally would. He would let the man have his privacy about what was bothering him. Sherlock found he was having a bit of a tough time with this particular departure. He felt like maybe he and Lestrade had shared a profound moment back in the interrogation room, sorting through the old case files and trying to piece things together for the sake of John. Simply to find themselves here, parting ways.

“Lestrade. I can’t tell you thank you enough. If you ever need anything please ask.”

Lestrade shocked Sherlock by pulling him into a hug, and clapping him on the back. “We'll get him back Sherlock. Go get some sleep you bastard.”

He practically pushed Sherlock out of his office as he shut off the light and followed him out of the room. The men parted ways on the curb, both taking a cab in opposite directions. One to a broken home where his wife cheated on him regularly and the other to an equally broken home because his heart had been taken against his will.

* * *

John sat at a small table eating eggs, sausage and toast. He had a nice cup of orange juice in front of him and the day's paper. He felt almost normal.

He guess Moriarty had been serious about treating him better because He’d had the table brought in first thing in what John assumed was the morning.

John ate the hot food with zeal. He knew logic dictated that he should probably show a bit of caution but he had a feeling Moriarty wouldn't be trying anything with his food, at least for a little while. He was trying to build a rapport between John and himself, he wanted John to trust him. John knew better, but like he promised himself yesterday, he’ll play the game, but he would not fall victim to it.

 

Moriarty walked in the room with two cups and a carafe of coffee. It smelled like heaven to John. He wiped his mouth and leaned back in the chair. “Good morning. It is morning is it not?”

“Yes John. And a glorious morning it is.” He poured John a cup of coffee. “How is breakfast?”

“Good, good. Thank you.”

“How do you take your coffee? I can have cream and sugar brought in if you like.”

“No, black is fine.”

“Like my heart.” Moriarty responded with a smile.

John suspected that Moriarty already knew this about himself.

“Do finish eating. I made it myself.” Moriarty poured himself a cup of coffee, and when he pulled a packet of sugar and creamer from his jacket it confirmed what John had suspected.

 

He finished eating while Moriarty watched him and sipped his coffee. Both the coffee and the breakfast was really good, he hadn’t lied about that.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company again today?” John asked.

“Well, John, since you asked. I have some opera tickets, I do love the classical works, and I was wondering if you would accompany me to the show?”

John was shocked speechless. “Wha- what? You’d trust me to go out in public?”

“I do realize it is early in our mutually beneficial truce, but you did say you’d behave and I did say I would treat you.”

“And that's it? No handcuffs or restraints?”

“No, of course not. But I will have trained snipers in attendance just in case you get an itch to misbehave. But you must know the snipers will not be targeting you but on members of the audience. So I would suggest being on your very best behavior.” Moriarty stood up. He gave John a complete once over, and then smiling he said, “I will have some clothes and fresh bathroom linen delivered so you can be ready to go later.” He turned and left the room without any further words.

* * *

Sherlock stared at the envelop in his hands. It was two tickets to tonight's opera. Who in their right mind would think he would want to go to an opera while John was missing? And who would actually use the second ticket with John not being here. Unless...unless it was actually from Moriarty and he was just baiting him. John’s phone went off, Sherlock almost didn’t check it because not everyone knew he was missing. But a niggling feeling had him checking the phone anyways. Unknown number, but the same number that Moriarty had been messaging him from. Opening the text his question was answered.

**Hiiii.**

**I hope you like the opera, I have sent you two tickets for tonight's show. Maybe you can bring that burly D.I. Lestrade with you since he’s been helping out with the case. Or maybe your stiff older brother would like to come. Either way. I will see you tonight. And Sherlock, be warned I will not be alone. There will be others in the spotlight tonight.**

**\- JM**

 

Sherlock called Lestrade immediately filling him in on the new development with the tickets and text. They decided the two of them would go a little earlier, to scope the place out.

Sherlock picked out one of his nicer formal suits, it was the opera after all. He laid it out on the bed along with his chosen shoes and coat.

An hour later Sherlock met Lestrade at Scotland Yard with a garment bag tucked under his arm. They still had work to do before tonight’s show. Both men would get ready here.

 

“Okay these four were all poisoned. And their bodies found near bodies of water but no water damage was found. So what does that tell us?” Sherlock asked.

“That if our unknowns are connected to the missing persons we will find the missing persons all near bodies of water.”

“Precisely. We need a map so that we can map out Jonathan Bell’s house as well as the location of each unknown on our list.”

“That way we can determine where to begin looking for the missing persons.” Lestrade rushed off to find them a map to use for this cause as Sherlock stared out into space.

When Lestrade returned they proceeded to label the map with color coded push pins. They discussed the most likely whereabouts for more hidden bodies and marked those out as well.

 

“Sherlock. We need to go get ready and head over to the show.”

“Yes, of course.” The men both got dressed in their finery and met on the curb, catching a cab to the Opera house.

Once there, they located their seats and then had a quick look around. Nothing seemed out of place. They decided to enter the show after most people were already seated to allow them the ability to get a look around without be obvious.

As they entered the auditorium for the second time, they took in as much as possible. Sherlock and Lestrade noticing right off the small pinpricks of red light on the back of random audience members. As the house lights were coming down Sherlock and Lestrade sat in their seats. A spot light spanned over a section of the crowd several rows in front of them and to the left. Sherlock nearly gasped out loud. That was John. He’d know John anywhere and from any angle. There was no red light on him however. John sat next to Moriarty and directly behind them was Sebastian Moran with a petite blonde lady. It almost appeared to be a double date. John was in an expensive suit and his hair was neatly styled. He watched as Moriarty leaned into John and whispered something in his ear. John turned and looked at him not saying anything. The blonde woman tapped John on the back and said something, John looked at her and smiled warmly.

Sherlock was confused. John seemed at ease with them. Almost as if he was enjoying his outing and not forced to attend.

 

Throughout the show  Sherlock continued to watch the group. There was no doubt in his mind that Moriarty had picked his seat intentionally to give him a good view of the four of them.

“Sherlock, everything okay mate?”

Sherlock nodded toward the group across the way.

Lestrade turned and looked where Sherlock indicated. He didn’t see what held Sherlock’s attention at first, not until John turned and looked at the blonde behind him, again smiling and then giving a laugh.

Sherlock felt his heart shatter. He could clearly hear that carefree laughter in his head.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock. Shock apparent on his face, he saw an array of emotions cross Sherlock’s face. “We don’t know that he is here by choice.” Lestrade tried to reason.

“You came to the same conclusion I did without us even discussing it. What does that tell you?”

“That we’re both idiots. John wouldn’t do this.”

Sherlock turned towards the stage for the first time that evening. How fitting that the story was about a heartbroken pirate. His love had ran off with a rival and now he sailed the seas aimlessly. Sherlock didn’t care to see how the story would end.

Lestrade went to get up.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock questioned.

“Might as well go ask him what the hell is going on.”

“Do you really think that is wise? Look.” Sherlock pointed in front of them. A red dot now rested on a woman two rows ahead of them; it hadn't been there until Lestrade moved to get up. Lestrade cursed and sat back down.

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing. At intermission I’m leaving.” Sherlock announced.

“What?!” Lestrade hissed loudly. Someone shushed him. “You can’t just leave. John is right there. We can approach them when the show is over. And maybe end this all here and now.”

“I will solve the Jonathan Bell case to get justice for those that he killed but I am not going to look for John any longer.”

“Are you mad? Did you forget they beat him up and took a picture?”

“Easy enough. I once had John hit me to make it seem as if I had been mugged.”

“No. Not John. He wouldn't put us through this, he would just tell us and leave. He wouldn’t play this game.” The D.I. insisted.

Sherlock sat back dismissing Lestrade's arguments. He had his mind made up he was leaving.

At intermission Sherlock stood and left, not sparing a look in John's direction.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger warning****  
> There is a brief mention of suicide in this chapter.

John enjoyed the show. It was hard for him to understand but it was different and he like it. Moriarty had told him it was about a robot who lost his heart at sea and was looking everywhere for it, but eventually gave up. Mary told him it was actually about a country singer looking for his dog who ran off with his cooler full of beer. John had laughed at Mary’s explanation of the show, but he believed Moriarty’s synopsis to more accurate. It touched and spoke to him on a level he didn’t want to examine too closely. 

He really couldn’t believe what a pleasant night he was having. Even more reason for him to be on guard. At the intermission the house lights came up and John turned to hear something Mary was saying and he got the flash of a head full of curly dark hair. Sherlock? Couldn’t be, had he been here he’d come to John’s rescue. He knew Sherlock would storm the metaphorical gates to save him, he’s proven it before plenty of times. His other three companions talked amongst themselves, well really two, Moran wasn’t much of a talker apparently and he was still sore with John for the two hits to the head. 

When the intermission was over and just as the lights was going down Moriarty grabbed John's chin in his hand, turned him to face him and kissed him square on the mouth. John was too shocked at first to react but then he pushed Moriarty away. “What the fuck was that?” he hissed at Moriarty. 

“Sorry John. I guess I got caught up in the moment.” 

John didn’t believe that for a minute. He was positive this moment would come back to hunt him. John tried to put a bit of distance between himself and Moriarty but there was already such limited space as it was. Moriarty reached over placing his hand on John’s knee, giving a small squeeze he leaned over and whispered, It’s been such a pleasant night, don’t ruin it.”

John fought down his anger and apprehension, reminding himself he had a role to play. He relaxed back into the seat and concentrated on the show. He heard Moriarty mumble under his breath, “That’s a good boy.”

* * *

Sherlock arrived back at Scotland Yard, as he was stepping out of the cab it began raining without warning. He cursed under his breath as he sprinted up the stairs. He was sure he made quite the sight, wearing one of his finer suits and standing there drenched from the sudden downpour. His curls was plastered to his head and he was absolutely miserable already, this just added to it.

Sherlock made his way back to the basement interrogation room. Changed back into his clothes from earlier and dried his hair best he could. He threw his wet clothes into the garment bag and shoved them in a chair over in the corner. 

Sherlock poured over the map again, making a mental list of locations to check. Grabbing his stuff he left Scotland Yard. And lucky for him, it had stopped raining.

When Sherlock reached his flat he ran up the stairs changed into some sweats and grabbed a shovel. He was going to start looking tonight, he needed something to take his mind off of the disaster of the night. 

Back downstairs he jumped back in the cab and told the cabbie the location of his first stop. This location was only ten minutes away from Jonathan Bell’s house and it was also where one of the Jane Doe’s had been found. She had been found almost a year ago. Sherlock guessed and hoped that she was Jonathan Bell’s first victim. 

Getting out in front of Bell’s flat, Sherlock walked the rest of the way to the water. There were plenty of places a body could be dumped and not found for several days, but longer than a week? It would have to have been buried. 

It was dark back here by the water, but in Sherlock’s mind he could see the layout as clear as if it had been day. He looked in the direction of where the first body had been found, he walked away from it's location. When he reached about one hundred feet from the initial location he stopped and surveyed the area. It was too open, so he walked several feet further north and he found himself behind an outcropping of rocks, or to be more accurate, what was left of a dilapidated building.

If he was a new serial killer he would feel secure hiding a body here in the dead of night. 

Sherlock got started digging. The ground here was more forgiving because of the nearness of the river. Had it been somewhere else, let's say away from water it would be much harder to dig. Rather Jonathan Bell knew this or simply chose to dig here because of the proximity to his house, Sherlock didn’t know nor did he care. He simply wanted to but the man behind bars.

Sherlock didn’t have to dig long before he struck something hard. He hadn’t brought a flashlight, he hadn't been thinking clearly; so he took out his phone, using the flashlight app to illuminate the area best it could. To Sherlock’s trained eye he could tell that it wasn’t rocks that he’d hit, but what looked to be human bone. Which guessing by the state of the bones, without further disturbing them; this body was at least as old as the first unknown. Which meant there was either more victims than Mr. Bell confessed to or Sherlock had chosen some of the wrong files.

Sherlock would have to say it was most likely the latter, because what were the odds of finding another body in the same area that belonged to a different killer? 

Sherlock’s turned his phone around ready to call Lestrade in when he saw he had a text message. His phone was still on silent so he hadn’t notice it go off. He decided to go ahead and call Lestrade, he’d check the message after he got off the phone. 

Lestrade answered, still at the opera. He said it was ending shortly and he would be over soon after, but he would get some forensic units out there now. 

Sherlock put off looking at the message. He decided to go back to the original location of the first body and go out from that location in the opposite direction he had just done, just to see if he found anything else.

This whole area was shrouded in broken down buildings, he was sure he could dig anywhere along here and possibly hit an impromptu grave. He wasn’t sure if Jonathan had hid all his bodies in the same area or different, because of the time that had passed between finding each of the unknowns, the police might not have thought to dig up this particular area. Making it a convent little graveyard for one Jonathan Bell. 

Sherlock realized belatedly that he’d left the shovel back at the other site and had to walk back over to retrieve it. Back at the new location he began to dig. After several minutes and not finding anything he stopped. Walking about 50 feet ahead he began digging, again he struck out. 

Sherlock decided to try digging right up against the wall and see if he got a hit. He was not disappointed. Sadly this one was not in the same stage of decay as the other and he felt the soft squish of a still intact body.

Sherlock threw down the shovel. Taking out his phone he saw he had two more messages, one from Lestrade two from Moriarty. He opened up the flashlight app instead, the only thing he had uncovered was a hand and part of an arm. It was a female. And there was an engagement ring on her finger. 

Sherlock felt like screaming. Not because of the lost of this life but for what the lost of her life represented to him at the moment. It drove home the fact that he had been so close to finally getting the one person he wanted in life just to have him snatched away cruelly. A lot like this young woman. She would be young, beautiful and in her prime, looking forward to a marriage that will never take place because someone selfishly snuffed out her light. 

Sherlock’s phone went off in his hand, he saw the phone light up. Lestrade was calling him. “Sherlock.”

“Where are you? My guys are out there and they need you to guide them to the body, they don’t want to risk contaminating the scene further.”

"Bodies. I found another. I’ll go over and guide them since obviously they are lacking flashlights and commonsense.” Sherlock hung up the phone shoving it back in his pocket as he made his way back over to the entrance to come down to the waterway. He saw the silhouette of Lestrade’s men as they stood waiting for direction. He shook his head. Some people were content with being lead around by their noses all their lives, he would never understand it. 

Sherlock reached the men and explained that there were in fact two bodies one that had already been reduced to a state of bones. And the other appeared to be rather new. Then men followed Sherlock over to the first body he found and then he lead half of the men over to the second body. They began doing what they normally do at a crime scene and Sherlock walked away, towards the river bank. It would be so easy to walk into the frigid water and just keep going, allowing his lungs to fill with water until he drowned. He felt like his life had turned upside down. Could he have misjudged John so badly? He knew the ex-soldier was addicted to dangerous situations, knew they made him feel alive, but never once would he have thought he would actually team up with a dangerous person. Then again Donovan challenged that Sherlock himself was dangerous and John should not associate with him, and yet he did. 

Sherlock took out the phone ready to read the messages, sure that they would add to his already foul mood. The first message was a picture of Moriarty kissing John on the lips at the opera. Sherlock clenched his hands closed. One hand squeezed the phone so hard he was sure he heard a crack. 

Sherlock bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, taking deep shallow breaths. Standing back up after a spell he opened the second message. 

 

**Sherlock you left before the grand finale. Sorry you missed it. It was explosive! As you can see, John and I are getting along famously. All it took was me to convince him we wanted the same thing. I don’t think he’ll be needing you to solve the case anymore. Consider this puzzle a freebie.**

**Oh, and when I am done with your little pet, you’re more than welcome to have him back. I get bored so easily.**

**\- JM**

 

Sherlock gave in and chucked his phone into the river. The plop or it hitting the water was very satisfying. And right behind that satisfaction he groaned. “Ugh! Idiot.” he need his phone even if just to keep in touch with Lestrade, his parents and his brother. 

Sherlock was tempted to walk into the ink black water and see if he could find it. But even if he pulled off that miracle, it wasn’t very likely to work properly. 

Sherlock turned around and started for the street. Someone called out to him, he continued walking, in a sort of daze. 

Lestrade grabbed Sherlock around his bicep, halting his progression. “Sherlock! Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” Sherlock made some sort of vague hand gesture in the air and started walking again. “Sherlock, what is bloody wrong with you?”

“I threw my phone into the river.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Moriarty sent me a photo of John and him kissing. Do you still believe John wouldn’t betray me like that?”

Lestrade screwed up his face at Sherlock. “What I can’t believe is how bloody quick you are to believe that he would. I stayed at the show remember? I saw the damned kiss. Moriarty forced himself on John and John pushed him away. I’m guessing he staged it so that he could send you the picture. I don’t know if he realized I was still there, or just didn’t care.” 

“Well, matters not.”

“Pull your head out of your arse long enough to see you’re falling exactly for what Moriarty wants! He is showing you one thing while the truth is hidden. But you're so self involved you can’t take a moment to see the truth of the whole matter.”

Sherlock blinked several times rapidly. Trying to digest the bomb that Lestrade just detonated in his face. “Lestrade you’re a genius, I could kiss you right now.” 

“I am? Does that mean I’ve gotten through your thick skull?”

“Yes! John had told me on the phone that things weren't as they seem. Well not in so many words but we often use codes to communicate when others are around. But anyways, also Moriarty’s first case to me was a simple play on the Greek myth of Narcissus, a man so self absorbed he fell in love with himself, in fact he was so in love and so self absorbed he stared at his image in the river and wasted away. He died. Now I have no clue what Moriarty is trying to tell me with that bit, but surely you are a genius Lestrade. Thank you!”

Lestrade watched as Sherlock practically bounced away. He didn't know where he was heading but hopefully it was to get another phone. He hadn’t even gotten to tell him why he was calling him trying to get his attention. 


	9. Chapter 9

John sat in his room. Something about tonight’s events didn’t sit right with him. Except for the kiss things went too well. And he knew without a doubt that Moriarty wasn’t to be trusted. He was almost certain something went down tonight. John got up opting to shower. He took off the fancy suit and headed for the bathroom. After his shower he came back out to the room to see the suit had disappeared along with his other clothes. “Bloody bastard.” he hissed under his breath. Why would he takes his clothes? Well why else? Being naked often leaves people feeling exposed and vulnerable. Well John wasn’t most people. He’d been in the bloody Afghan war. He’s seen and done things he would never see or do in the civilian world. But back to the game so it seems.

John dried off with the towel and then placed it under his pillow and laid down atop the sheets. He was certain someone was constantly watching him. He didn’t care at this point. Let them get an eye full. He was confident, he knew he was above average in the endowment department. And he had a reputation to boot. He wasn’t ashamed of the scars on his body, each one was a small badge, a victory celebrating the fact that he was still here despite all those who tried to end his life.

John dozed off after awhile. Lost in his own head.

Later he was roused from his sleep because of a chill, he was cold, the lack of clothes and the fact that your body temperature tends to drop when you're sleep. He maneuvered himself under his blanket and went back to sleep, absently taking note that someone had turned out the lights.

 

Hours later John woke up feeling refreshed. He was stretching just as someone was placing a plate of food on his table along with a carafe of coffee and some juice. There were clothes at the foot of his bed. He chose to ignore them completely. He walked to the bathroom making use of it, and washing his hands to eat.

Heading back out to his room, he saw he now had a guest. Mary sat in the chair opposite his, her back was currently to him. He walked around casually and sat down picking up the carafe of coffee and pouring himself a cup. “Good morning. Would you care for some? Coffee, juice, food?”

Mary smiled, “No thank you John.”

“Suit yourself.” John picked up the fork and began eating. “Mmm this is really good. Did Moriarty cook this as well?” He asked?

“Yes. He insists.”

“Well tell him I said thank you and compliments to the chef.”

“You know, they brought you more clothes, you could put them on.”

“Nah, I’m okay. I have never felt so free in my life. I’m rather enjoying letting everything hang out so to speak.”

Mary looked down as a blush creeped across her cheeks.

John stuffed a bit of pancakes into his mouth and was chewing when Mary asked him, “You aren't really buying this nice bit from him are you?”

John swallowed and took a sip from his juice.

“About as much as I do from you. I mean sometimes people are just dealt bad hands; sometimes they just need someone to talk to and confide in, someone in that's in their corner, you know? And sometimes still, when you give someone a chance you realize you have far more in common than you though.” John forked some more food into his mouth.

“I think you should be more on guard than you are.” She admonished.

John shrugged, “Why do you care? Seriously? You’re one of his henchmen and do as he says, why should I trust you but not him? Where is the logic in that?”

Mary looked at John like she was disappointed in him. “I don’t have a choice but you do.”

“As I told you before, everyone has a choice and besides,” John took a drink from his coffee, “I’m beginning to think Moriarty isn’t that bad. He and Sherlock are a lot alike in ways.”

Mary stood up abruptly. “I have work to do.” She walked to the door and then turned back around, stalking over getting right in his face, “Doesn't it bother you that he has killed people, that he has orchestrated the murder of countless of people?”

“That is his past, yes? Don’t we all deserve a redo from time to time?”

Mary leaned down and kissed John hard and quickly. When she pulled away she gave him a lust filled once over. “Aren’t you suddenly just the cat’s meow. You are very interesting John Watson.” Mary turned and walked out leaving the door wide open.

John wiped at his mouth and cursed under his breath. He wondered about what she said as well. Both Moriarty and Mary hitting on him. Just didn’t seem very likely. One or both of them thought they could play with him in this manner. What next? Moran hitting on him? God he hoped not. He wasn't the least bit interested in any of them. He only wanted to get back to Sherlock.

Mary leaving the door open made him think someone else would be in after her. John finished eating and still no one came in. He piled his dishes up on the plate and noticed Mary had brought him a paper. He reached over grabbing the paper he sat on the bed, still nude, to read it.

The front page headline grabbed his attention. _Explosion at the opera!_ There was a picture of the opera house in flames beneath the headline. John felt sick to his stomach. They had left a couple of minutes early and John had figured it was just to avoid the traffic. But now he knew better. He cursed loudly.

“Good morning John.” Moriarty greeted from the doorway.

John exploded off the bed, forgetting his nudity completely. “You prick! I thought you said you were going to behave as long as I did!”

Mary stood in the doorway watching their exchange.

“John. Do calm down. You obviously didn’t react the whole article.”

John looked down at the paper and back up at Moriarty.

“Just sit down and read it. Please.”

John sat down and finished the article. The explosion happened an hour after the opera had ended and no one had been hurt. John sighed in relief. “So you weren’t behind the explosion?”

“Of course I was. But I made sure no one was there to be injured. I already had the place all dressed up, might as well let it go out with a bang.” John ran a hand over his face, “I’m sorry I lost it before reading the whole article.”

“Oh it’s quite alright John, I can understand you not trusting me to keep my word.”John held eye contact with the man. “And as much as I enjoy seeing the new exposed you, might you put some clothes on, I can’t have you enticing all the help now can I?” Moriarty looked behind him, pointedly at Mary.

“I gotta go. I have a press meeting to attend.”

Moriarty left the room with Mary on his heels, and still the door stayed open. John wasn’t sure what to think about this new development. He put his clothes on leaving his shoes and socks off. He grabbed his discarded dishes and stepped out of the room. He started down the hall opposite the direction he was brought in. Every open door he passed he looked into. A man was approaching him but said nothing as he passed. He didn’t even attempt to stop John nor ask what he was doing. John turned and called out to the man, “Excuse me? Where can I find the kitchen?” The man turned around and answered, “Around the corner second door on the right.”

“Thanks.” John followed the man's directions still taking note of what he passed. The building was built in very tight quarters and he hadn’t passed any windows as of yet. John got to the door that was marked kitchen. Stepping inside he was surprised to see that it was busy with a dozen cooks preparing meals. “Uh, excuse me? Where can I put my dishes?” A woman walked over to him smiling. “Thank you Dr. Watson, I will take it from you.”

John was taken aback with the knowledge that the woman knew his name. “Thank you.”

He passed the dishes to the woman and left the kitchen heading back to his room.

As he was approaching his room he noticed some steps. He didn’t recall any steps before. Had he been moved? John went to the steps and ascended them, he came out outside on a deck. He was on a bloody ship!

 John looked around flabbergasted. A ship? He never would have guessed. No wonder he didn’t have any windows. It also explained why they had taken a helicopter to and from the opera last night. Moriarty had insisted blindfolding him. And when he first arrived here they had kept him blindfolded until they had reached the hallway to his room. Being on a ship explained why they were willing to let him a roam around unchaperoned now. John walked to the edge of the ship looking down at the water. They weren’t moving; they must be anchored down.

John closed his eyes, it was so peaceful up here. He would love to spend the remainder of his sentence up here instead in that stuffy room.

“I see you finally found your way up top. Be careful you don’t fall overboard.”

It was Moran. John kept his eyes closed soaking up the warm sun and ocean breeze. He didn’t bother acknowledging Moran. He wasn’t going to let him take this small joy away from him. Suddenly Moran had his hands wrapped around John’s biceps, turning him so that his back was against the railing and pushing him as if he would throw him over the side. John kept his eyes closed and his face unresponsive.

“I don’t like you. You think you’re the new flavour of the month do you? Moriarty will get bored of you and then get rid of you. Just like he does everyone. Everyone but me. Don’t make me do something you will regret.”

“Sebastian, be a dear and let John go.” Moriarty sounded bored as he issued the command.

Moran didn’t respond or let John go. “Sebastian. Daddy’s had enough. Let him go.”

John inwardly rolled his eyes. _Daddy?_ Moriarty didn’t raise his voice but the threat was explicit. Moran let him go and stepped away. John finally opened his eyes and glared at Moran. John wasn’t afraid of the man, even if he was at least a foot and a half taller, broader in the shoulders and most likely more ruthless than John.

John gave him one last look hoping his own threat was clear to him. Moran had better pray that he and John was never alone on neutral ground. Moran might not walk away from that fight.

John turned to walk back down the stairs.

“John, you have free reign of the ship. I hope you won't make me regret trusting you.”

John stopped his advancement long enough to turn to look at Moriarty, “Not at all. Thank you.” He gave Moran another murderous look and descended the steps headed back to his room.

* * *

 

Sherlock had slept like a baby the night before. Feeling renewed with Lestrade's reminder of John’s warning. He dressed, ate and prepared for the day. He would get to the bottom of the cause of deaths today. Hopefully the body he had found the night before would be able to give him more information considering how new it was. All the unknowns were inconclusive. They could only tell that it was something ingested that caused the victim's deaths.

Sherlock reached for his phone to text Lestrade and remembered he was phoneless. He went to retrieve John’s phone from his coat pocket.

There was a message.

**Heard you lost your phone last night. Pity.**

**\- JM**

Sherlock sent a text to Mycroft.

**Lost my phone. Contact me on John’s phone.**

**\- SH**

**I am aware. There is a phone waiting for you in front of your flat door.**

**\- M**

Sherlock walked to the front door and opened it. As promised there was a package addressed to him. He opened it to find a phone exactly like the one he previously owned. There was a note at the bottom of the package.

**I know how much you hate change.**

**\- M**

Sherlock smiled, he appreciated his brother’s thoughtfulness. He looked through the phone, seeing that all his numbers were already in the phone.

He sent Lestrade a text.

**I’m back in business. Text me if you need me. I will be to Scotland Yard in approximately one hour.**

**\- SH**

 

Sherlock picked up the paper. Mrs. Hudson was always leaving the paper for John. And even though he was missing she continued to leave them. Sherlock sat down in John’s chair to read. His heart nearly stopped as he saw the front page. He read through the article quickly, his heart rate calming. The building had been empty. Thank goodness. If something was to happen to John at this stage, Sherlock was sure he would never forgive himself. Sure it had only been a couple of days, but it felt like weeks.

The alert tone on his new phone went off. He picked it up and seeing a message from Lestrade.

**Meet you at the Yard.**

  
Sherlock grabbed his coat and the phones exiting the flat. Time to go make a dent in this case.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warnings**  
> Domestic abuse and drug use

“Are you better today?” Lestrade asked passing Sherlock a cup of coffee.

“Yes.”

“Good we have work to do. First on the list is to go back out to the river and dig up the area.”

Sherlock looked at Lestrade. “No. I want a crack at the body first. Has your people already done an autopsy?”

“Yeah, but don’t you want to see how many more bodies are out there? There could be more.” 

“Or none at all. If I work on what he poisoned them with it’s possible to wrap up the case without finding all the bodies right out which means an earlier release date for John.”

“So you’re back to believing in our fellow doctor are you?”

“Of course. When have I not?” Sherlock gave Lestrade a brief smile. “Feel free to oversee the digging though, that way we would have both leads covered and you could tell me what you find when we meet back up later.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at Sherlock and his mouth parted slightly in disbelief. “You’re trusting me on my own?”

“You did make Detective Inspector without my help. I am confident you will do fine.”

Lestrade nodded to him. “Very well I will let Molly know to expect you.”

Lestrade and Sherlock walked towards the entrance of Scotland Yard. “Did you know about the explosion last night at the opera house?” Sherlock asked as they exited the building. 

“Yeah. I got a call right as I was pulling up to the scene last light. That was what I was trying to tell you when you got all loopy. I had wanted to tell you before you saw it on the telly or in the paper.”

“I saw it in the paper this morning. Glad to know it was empty when the explosives detonated. I’m sure this was Moriarty, designed to give me a bloody heart attack.” Sherlock complained as a cab stopped at the sight of his up raised hand. “We’ll talk later.”

 

“To Bart’s please.” Sherlock asked of the cabbie. When they were just about to his destination the cabbie spoke up. “How’s your heart?”

“Excuse me?” 

“How's your heart, have you checked in on it lately?”

Sherlock thought the cabbie’s question was a bit odd. “Umm, I’m not going for my health, I’m heading in for work.”

“Ahh, you don’t look like a doctor.”

“I’m not.”

They pulled up to the hospital, Sherlock passed the cab driver the fare and as he was getting out the cabbie looked at him and said, “You really should check on your heart more often, John may not be doing well.” 

“Excuse me?” Sherlock closed the door behind him leaning into the cab to address the driver. “What did you say?”

The cabbie pulled off his hat that had a wig attached to it. Moran. He stepped on the gas and sped off. 

Sherlock cursed and stared after the cab. Nothing to be done about it now. He walked into Barts and went up to the pathology lab to meet Molly Hooper.

Molly was waiting on him with a clipboard. “Hello Sherlock.”

“Molly.” Sherlock frowned at her, “You’re positively glowing. New boyfriend?”

Molly looked away blushing. “Yes actually.”

“Good. You deserve to be happy.”

Molly looked up at Sherlock as if she’d never seen him before. 

“Uh, thanks.” 

The walked down to the morgue in silence. Upon reaching the morgue Sherlock asked Molly about the victim specifics. 

“She was a twenty-six year old Caucasian female, dead approximately one month. Cause of death strychnine poisoning.”

“Strychnine poisoning? Are you certain?”

“Yup. You’re more than welcome to check for yourself.”

“No, no. I trust you. What about traces of food or anything else in her stomach or system?”

Molly was still stuck on the “I trust you bit.”

“Molly?”

“Hmm sorry?”

“Were there any traces of food or anything else in her system?”

“Um, a bit of caffeine, some red meat, nothing that really stands out. Most food is digested within two to three hours, the contents of her stomach was almost completely digested. She could’ve had a sweet or coffee after a meal that contained red meat.”

Sherlock looked over the paperwork Molly handed him. “Yes, but how would he get the victims to agree to being poisoned? Nobody that is happily in love would agree to that knowingly.” Sherlock debated out loud. 

“Maybe they didn’t know they were exactly or actually agreeing to it. Maybe they thought it was a joke or an euphemism.”

“Brilliant! You and Lestrade are in rare form these days. I’m off Molly, back to Scotland Yard to review the info on the other unknowns again. Thank you!” 

Sherlock rushed out of Bart’s hailing a cab on the street. Sherlock was pleased with how smooth and fast the case was moving alone. He thought about the contents of the victim’s stomach and the significance it had on the case. She ate shortly before death, which probably meant she had went on a date with their suspect. Maybe he cooked for her or added something extra to her food. And as he rode to Scotland Yard something struck him. Jonathan Bell. It was probably a pseudonym. He did fancy himself to be an actor or model. 

Pulling out his phone he dialed Lestrade. Without preamble he began speaking when Lestrade picked up. “Did you fingerprint Jonathan Bell?”

“No.”

“Well why the hell not!”

“Nice to have you back Sherlock. We didn't fingerprint because he is there voluntarily. We haven’t proved he committed any crimes, only his word that he did.”

“I’m convinced that Jonathan Bell is a pseudonym for his budding career in film and stage.”

Lestrade cursed. 

“We need to get him to agree to give a fingerprint sample.” Sherlock suggested excitedly. 

“I am still down by the river. I haven’t found anymore bodies by the way.”

“I’m on my way back to Scotland Yard, the Jane Doe I found last night died from strychnine poisoning. Most of the food in her stomach had been digested already but there was traces of red meat and caffeine.”

“What is strychnine poisoning?” Lestrade questioned.

“If is arguably one of the most poisonous plants in existence. It can cause anxiety, restlessness, painful convulsions, respiratory difficulty and even death from suffocation or exhaustion.”

“How can exhaustion  cause death?”

“Your body gets so tired it just stops. You stop breathing, heart stops pumping, brain stops functioning. Essentially your body shuts down.” 

“So, not a nonviolent death?”

“Doesn’t appear so. In fact it is known to be extremely painful to die from strychnine poisoning.”

“How do we determine if any of the other victims died of the same?” 

“I am going to read through the files again and see if I see any of the info contained corresponds with strychnine poisoning.”

“All right and if you find nothing? What then?”

“We fake it. We have enough information to make it seem like we have more than we do. We can get a warrant, go to his house and search for bodily fluids or anything that would tie him to these murders.”

“Okay well you find out what you can there and we’ll cross reference later.”

Sherlock hung up the phone. A few moments longer and he’d have reached Scotland Yard.

 

Once there Sherlock went straight downstairs and started looking through the files. After a while he paused, taking out his phone he called Molly. “Molly, what was the estimated particulars on the bones we sent over?”

“At time of death, the victim was twenty-three, also a Caucasian female, died approximately two and a half years ago. But we hit a bid of luck with this one. She had a hip replacement. She was kind of young to have one, but not unheard of. So anyways, we are tracing the serial number on the artificial hip now to see who it belongs to.” 

“Splendid! Thank you Molly please text me when you get the name.” Sherlock hung up the phone and instead of going back to the files as originally planned he went upstairs to speak with Donovan.

 

“Donovan I need your assistance.”

“Hello freak. Why would you possibly need my assistance with?”

“I am about to ask Jonathan Bell to submit a fingerprint sample. And I will need for you to run it.”

What makes you think he will give one, he doesn’t have to you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that but I believe he wants to be caught so he will cooperate however needed.”

“Alright. But I just want you to know the only reason I'm helping is because Lestrade has already phoned me to help you in any way I could, with no problems.”

“Fine. As long as you help me solve this I don’t care what your reasons are. But I appreciate your help all the same.”

“What's gotten into you? Is it true that John has gone missing?”

“Kidnapped actually by Jonathan Bell’s employer. And I have to solve this case if I hope to get John back.”

“I like John. Let me know if there is anything else I can do to help beyond this.”

Sherlock smiled. He kept hearing that same line over and over again. Apparently John was well liked and people wanted him returned safely. He  doubted he would garner the same devotion and loyalty. Most people would probably say good riddance if ever turned up missing. 

Sherlock followed Sgt. Donovan down to the holding cells and on to the one that contained Jonathan Bell. 

 

“Hello Mr. Bell.” Sherlock greeted politely. 

“Ah Mr. Holmes. Have you solved my crime yet?”

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet. “No, not yet.”

“Well then what can I help you with?”

“Would you be so kind as to submit a fingerprint sample?”

“You’ve found something?” Jonathan beamed up at Sherlock. “Moriarty said it was a sixty-forty chance that you would find something.”

“Sixty-forty?”

“He also said that that bit of info would upset you.”

“Upset? I’m not upset, I'm offended. Of course I will solve this, it hardly rates a three.”

“Either way, I’d be delighted to provide you with a sample.”

Donovan stepped forward at that moment unlocking the cell, “Follow me then Mr. Bell.”

 

The trio walked to the receiving area to gather Jonathan Bell’s fingerprints. After doing so Sherlock escorted Jonathan Bell back to his cell while Sgt. Donovan ran the prints. 

Once back at the cell Sherlock locked the door behind the man. “Is there any info you can volunteer, any insight you can give me?”

Jonathan shook his head sadly. “Nope. Sorry.”

“Fine. Every game has it’s rules.” Sherlock turned and went back in search of Donovan.

 

“Anything?” He asked anxiously. 

“Actually yes. We got a hit almost immediately.”

“Really?” Sherlock’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yup. Why would he just give up his prints like this knowing he had a record?”

“I told you, he’s ready to get caught.”

“Well his real name is Jonathan Shirewitz. In his record there are dropped charges for domestic abuse from a then fiance. Who by the way was reported missing. And there are also several cases of assault and battery.” Donovan grinned as if this find was all her doing.

“Excellent. And let me guess, the girlfriend went missing what two years ago?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“One of the bodies we found a little ways from his flat was a twenty-three year old female. Died approximately two and a half years ago. She also had a hip replacement. Does the file say anything about that?”

“Yeah. The girls parents tried to press charges because he had beat her so badly she had to be rushed to the hospital and eventual had to have hip replacement surgery.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sandy Wilcox.”

“Thank you Donovan. You have been a big help.”

 

Sherlock headed back downstairs and texted Molly on the way. 

 

**The hip belongs to a Sandy Wilcox. Thanks for your help.**

**\- SH**

 

Sherlock began cross referencing the missing persons with the unknowns, something he should have done from the beginning. This time he extended his search further, starting around the same time as Jonathan’s fiancee’s death. 

He sat there for hours and by time Lestrade walked in he had found six victims, including the girlfriend, who fit the criteria. Young, Caucasian, and models. Sherlock still found men in these groups. So he guessed that Jonathan killed both genders. All six had also been poisoned in the same manner some had traces of caffeine, chocolate and or red meat in their systems. 

But who was the last victim? Sherlock was almost certain that Jonathan had invited the people out on dates, laced their food with the poison and buried their bodies and in some cases just dumped the body where it wouldn’t be readily found.

Sherlock was beside himself with excitement at his newfound development. It was moments like this that Sherlock needed John most, he knew those little tidbits of info that always helped in a case. 

 

“Bad news. No other bodies were found.” Lestrade announced as he sat down heavily across from Sherlock. 

“That’ quite all right. I have identified six of the seven victims. I know they were all poisoned, but I need the last victim and the specifics on how he got them to agree to being murdered.”

“Well the last victim is the one you found last night. You found his first and last victim in the same location. And as for specifics on how? I haven't a clue.” 

Sherlock called Molly up. “Yes hello again. I need your help. You date a lot, is there any dating rituals or foods that you may partake in when you're serial dater?” 

Molly was silent for a moment Sherlock’s insult wasn’t intended so she would let it go. “Rituals no, not that I know of. Foods. No, not really. There are a number of dishes and drinks that people eat or drink to imply certain things.”

“Like?”

“Sex on the beach, sex in a cab, call me a cab, death by chocolate, slippery nipple, better than sex. There are plenty.”

Sherlock had Molly on speaker phone and Lestrade asked, “How is death by chocolate a euphemism for sex?”

“Well a lot of women say chocolate is better than sex, so death by chocolate equals really good sex.” 

“That’s it! Death by chocolate. There was chocolate found in several of their systems as well as caffeine. If he asked them if they would like some death by chocolate, and they said yes, that would in sense be them agreeing to dying by chocolate. Although they wouldn’t have known it was literally. Thank you Molly, you are indispensable.”

“You’re welcome Sherlock.”

Sherlock hung up the phone and looked at Lestrade, let’s go get ourselves a murderer.

 

John relaxed in his room, enjoying the sound of ocean waves and the call of birds. He had a stereo now and Moriarty had provided him with a ocean soundtrack. There was different sounds on the c.d. like a rain storm, a thunderstorm, whale songs, and the current track, a sunny day at the beach. It was peaceful. 

He had been gone only a couple of days, but it definitely felt like longer. He missed Sherlock’s dry unintentional humor and even his intentional but bad jokes. He missed the quiet nights at home as well as the adrenaline charged cases they solved together. What he was missing most right now though was the opportunity to tell Sherlock how he really felt. He tried to remind himself of his feelings for his flatmate often, because he feared he might have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome. Moriarty was being very charming. And Mary very funny. Both seemed to enjoy his company and made him feel like he mattered. John hadn’t seen Moran anymore since the confrontation on the deck. He wasn’t sure if the reason was so they didn’t have anymore issues or something more nefarious. 

Also, Moriarty hadn’t allowed John to talk to Sherlock anymore. And he was sure it was a way to try and make him feel isolated. 

 

“John, are you alright?” Mary was at the door. John had zoned out and don’t know how long she had stood there speaking to him. 

“I’m fine. You need something?”

“No not really, just, I wanted to see if you wanted to go to the theatre room and watch a movie with me?”

“Um sure why not. What did you have in mind?”

“How about a rom com?” Mary suggested.

John screwed up his face. 

“Okay, maybe not, how about a good old fashioned comedy?”

“That could work.”

John and Mary sat and watched  _ 50 First Dates.  _ John ended up giving into Mary and watching a romantic comedy after all. It was a funny movie, you couldn’t go wrong with Adam Sandler.

However, towards the end of the movie, Mary snuggled into him, laying her head on his shoulder. John didn’t object; it was kind of nice having someone to snuggle with while watching a movie. When it was done, John went to get up but Mary placed a light hand on his chest stopping him. He looked at her questioningly. She smiled softly looking at his lips and leaned forward pressing her mouth lightly against his. John didn’t respond or react, Mary tried to deepen the kiss and he pulled away. “I’m sorry, I can’t. My heart belongs to Sherlock.” He whispered. 

Mary smiled, “You should get that put on a shirt.” As she was pulling away another spoke, “I call dibs on next.” Moriarty.

Mary got up and exited the theatre room looking down as she passed Moriarty, looking like a teenager that had just gotten caught making out with her boyfriend. Only John wasn’t her boyfriend and he wasn’t interested.

“Hi.” Moriarty greeted John in his usual sing-song voice. 

“Hi.”

“Care to have dinner with me tonight?”

“I’m not really feeling up to it. Can I take a raincheck?”John asked.

Moriarty’s smile dropped. He no longer looked the part of a cheerful host. “So you could watch a movie with that backstabbing, parent killing twat! But can’t have dinner with me?” Moriarty shook his head as if he was extremely disappointed in John. As he looked down at the ground he snapped his fingers and two huge men came in grabbing John around the biceps and physically carried him back to his room, shutting the door behind them. John tried the door. Locked. 

 

Sherlock paced his room. Filled with worry and nothing but negative thoughts. It had been two and a half days since Sherlock had contacted Moriarty letting him know he had solved the case on Jonathan Shirewitz. The only reply he got back was a “Good job.” He’d heard nothing since. No taunts, no calls no text. Maybe Moriarty had already killed John, and since he couldn’t uphold his end of the bargain so he didn’t respond at all. Or maybe, John really did defect to the darkside, Sherlock had read on a tee shirt once that they had cookies. Lestrade said he hadn’t heard anything either. 

Was Sherlock expected to just sit and wait? He needed his John back. Life wasn’t the same without him. It was dull and boring.

Sherlock walked over to his chest of drawers and reached into the top drawer. Sticking his hand all the way to the back he pulled out a small roll of fabric. Laying it on top of the chest of drawers he unrolled it to reveal  a syringe, a small bag of white powder, a spoon and a tourniquet. His hand shook as it hovered over the drugs. He needed something to take his mind of the internal agony. He preferred John but he didn’t have that luxury any longer. 

Sherlock had the baggie in hand and was opening it when there was a loud insistent knock at the flat door. Sherlock sat the bag down and went to see who was at the door. 

“Who is it?” he called through the door.

“It’s me Sherlock. Let me in.”

Sherlock groaned dramatically as he opened the door with more force than warranted, allowing the door to swing inward and hit the wall. 

 

Mycroft shut the door gently As he took in the state of his brother. He hadn’t bathed in at least two days, he hadn’t shaved or done any hygienic upkeep to be honest. Mycroft took in the bags and dark circles under his eyes, the dryness I. His skin and redness of his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping, eating nor drinking anything. He was most likely dehydrated and well on his way to becoming malnourished. Sherlock Holmes was a drama queen of the highest level. He didn’t need an audience, he was his own audience. When he was unhappy it showed. Intensely. 

Mycroft bypassed Sherlock and marched to his room and Sherlock took off after him yelling for him to stay out of his room. 

Just as he feared. The drugs were out and on the chest of drawers. The only saving grace was that it appeared that Sherlock had not started shooting up yet. But he was close to breaking. 

 

Mycroft  wrapped up the paraphernalia and stuffed it in his pocket. Being mindful of the needle. “Sherlock! You have to be stronger than this. John needs you to be strong.”

“Nobody knows what John needs. He isn’t here, he’ll never be here again.” 

Mycroft wanted to strike his little brother, hoping to knock some sense back into him. He understood a broken heart far better than Sherlock thought he did, but he couldn’t let his brother in on that little secret. 

He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and dragged him towards the front door. He heard a mobile phone go off. Sherlock fought to be free of Mycroft but in his weakened state he was no challenge for his brother. “I’ll get the phone brother mine. Where are they?” 

“On my bed.”

 

Mycroft went back to the room and scooped up the phones uncertain which had gone off. It was Sherlock’s. Mycroft opened up the text message and saw a picture of John kissing Mary Morstan. Mycroft had looked into her a bit after the opera house fiasco. He deleted the picture. Sherlock couldn’t handle that right now. Besides, he didn’t believe the context of that photo for one minute. He knew Dr. John Watson. And that man was fanatically crazy for Sherlock, and he wouldn’t in the span of almost six days fall completely head over heels for one of his oppressors. Not even for physical gratification. He knew for a fact John had been celibate for almost a year now. And he also knew for a fact that John had been presented with opportunities to end his dry spell but had passed on them all together. So no, Mycroft didn’t believe for one solitary minute that Captain John Watson was off somewhere falling into bed with assassins.

 

Mycroft slipped both phones into his pocket before e going back out to his brother. 

“Who was it?” Mycroft could hear the desperation in Sherlock’s voice. It broke his heart. His cold and calculating heart. Sherlock was no good to him or anyone else in this state. He would take him back to his estate, get him back into some semblance of a functioning human being and then they would find and bring John home. 

 

“Sherlock, you’re coming with me. I am going to help you get back on your feet so that we can find John Watson and get him home.”

“Who was on the phone Mycroft?” Sherlock’s voice rose with each word spoken.

“Oh. It was Harry, she had texted John’s phone and I responded telling her that he had left his phone at home.”

“Oh.” 

Mycroft again took Sherlock by the arm and led him from the house. He couldn’t believe how far Sherlock had fell in a matter of days. He must really and truly love John. He hoped that they found the good doctor before Moriarty tired of the game. 

 

John found himself back in closed quarters with no freedom. Seriously? He was just learning the layout of the ship and trying to devise a plan to get off of it. He had to get away. It wasn’t so much that it was a bad situation anymore, but mentally he was breaking down. He knew what they were up to with the dancing around him and the flirting. He had promised himself that he would play the game but not be played. He didn’t want to lose sight of that. He needed to keep close to him the reminder that he wasn’t here on holiday. These people wouldn’t hesitate to bloody kill him. And he had a heart to heart conversation to initiate with a stubborn, bullheaded, way too smart for his own good detective.

 

It amazed John how he ever made it this far without breaking down and telling Sherlock how much he cared for him. And after seeing those photos from the surveillance, John was convinced that Sherlock cared just as deeply for him. Maybe they were both stubborn and bullheaded and needed some sense knocked into them.

 

John had been randomly wandering around the ship trying to find the control or engine room. He wanted to send a Morse code S.O.S out. Maybe someone would understand it and contact Sherlock letting him know where the message had originated from and Sherlock would be able to come and get him. But now he was back stock in his room. Maybe he should have just taken his chances and jumped. Sure it was early autumn and the water was likely freezing. But if he remembered correctly the helicopter ride wasn't that long which meant the shore couldn’t have been that far. But then again the brief time he had been on the deck he didn’t recall seeing the shore at all.

John felt lost. He didn’t know where to even begin to start. He just knew he needed to get home.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft stood over Sherlock. Both hands extended in front of him leaning on his umbrella.

“If you’re going to act like a child Sherlock, that’s how I will treat you dear brother.”

“I am an adult and exercising my right not to eat. That’s what adults do.”

“No Sherlock, you’re acting like a petulant child who is refusing to eat because he didn’t get his way. Stop behaving like this. You need to eat, shower and get your wits about you so you can bring John home.” Mycroft stared at his little brother, wondering how to get through to him. “Sherlock. I understand you are fearful that something has gone wrong with this whole Moriarty situation. But you can’t give up yet. You will never forgive yourselfers if you find out later that there was more you could’ve done to save John.” When Sherlock still did not respond, Mycroft tried again. “You deserve to be happy like all the other completely normal people of the world. You deserve to find John and give it the good old college try. John cares for you Sherlock, do not abandon him because of the possibility of losing.”

 

Sherlock sat quietly staring at the food in front of him. “Where is the bathroom?”

“This is not your first time here Sherlock. You know very well where the bathroom is.”

Sherlock stood up, and walked to the front of the house grabbing his bag and headed towards one of the downstairs guest bathrooms. 

Mycroft was correct, he had work to do. He couldn’t stop until he knew for sure that John was lost to him. 

Sherlock showered and shaved, going back out to the kitchen he sat and ate his food without word. He ate slowly and drank slowly. When he’s gone days without eating, he had to eat slowly to give his body time to adjust to having food in it again.

 

Mycroft sat across the long dining table and watched his brother eat. He was pleased he was trying. But now he would have to have a difficult conversation with Sherlock. To tell him things that would most likely make his little brother hate and distrust him for a time; he didn’t look forward to it. Because even if they didn’t act like conventional families they cared about one another and this would hurt Sherlock. Maybe as much as John being missing. 

After Sherlock finished eating Mycroft decided to broach the subject. “Baby brother, we need to have a talk.”

Sherlock looked over to Mycroft, he took in Mycroft’s forced calm and casual air. The fake smile, on a side note, Mycroft had botox injections recently. But whatever his brother wanted to discuss with him, he didn't think Sherlock would like it. Sherlock squared his shoulders, he felt a bit ill after eating but he knew that was just a side effect of having not eaten anything in days. “You do little else than talk. Spit it out, you look ready to burst with your verbal constipation.”

 

Mycroft wasn’t sure how to begin. “Have you tried looking at the situation from Moriarty’s view point?”

Sherlock was shocked and a bit confused by his brother’s question. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Why indeed. You’ve had no contact with John or his kidnapper. You know John Watson wouldn’t sit idly waiting to be rescued, something must be keeping him from trying to escape.”

“Yeah complacency.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Snap out of your self pitying and look at the situation for what it is. John Watson is a patriotic man, honorable, Queen and country through and through. He would not sit back complacent while a criminal held him captive unless things were out of his hands. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for thinking the worst of that man. Now get your bloody act together and think this through.”

Sherlock jumped up, Mycroft acted as if he knew something and was trying to lead Sherlock to the answer. “If you know something dammit, bloody tell me. We don’t have time to play who is smarter.” Sherlock yelled back.

“There is no competition. Moriarty is a consulting criminal, he’s smart, resourceful and bored. What is more dangerous than that? Compare yourself to him and tell me what would you do if you were him trying to hide from you. Think Sherlock, use that head of yours.”

 

Sherlock sat back down and did as instructed, he thought. He himself often felt the need to get away and had many bolt holes. A man like Moriarty who would find it just as difficult to stomach the mediocrity of everyday people would most likely have the same. Especially when you factor in the fact that he would need different locations he could lay low from law enforcement if the need ever arouse. Different places to conduct business, safe places to conduct business away from the always watchful eye of Mycroft and the British government. 

When John gave him hints he didn’t offer any insight on physical location which meant at the time he hadn’t had any to offer, most likely blindfolded when he was taken to the location. But when they went to the opera there was a chance he had gathered some info that would help Sherlock. Only, Moriarty had not allowed them to talk again. 

Where could Moriarty keep John that could keep him from getting away? The only situations Sherlock could think of that John wouldn’t try his chances of escape is if chances of death were high. Like traveling for miles through adverse weather conditions without the proper protection. Also if chances were high for recapture before getting help. Or if he was literally under heavy physical surveillance. One or two bodyguards John could take out easily. But a room full, not a chance. 

Sherlock believed Moriarty was keeping John in London. Where could they hide in London?

“What about a running theme throughout this whole mess.” Mycroft suggested.

A theme? Narcissus stared at himself in a river and it lead to his death. Jonathan Shirewitz buried and dumped his victims near a river. Could John be near a river?

Sherlock roused himself from deep thought to find himself staring down at a now empty place setting he looked up to see Mycroft resting his chin in his folded hands dozing.

 

“Mycroft.” 

Mycroft startled awake. “So you’re back. I tell you we needed to talk and you zone out on me.” 

Ignoring Mycroft's statement Sherlock said excitedly “I know where I need to start looking for John at.”

“Do tell.”

“Along the rivers.”

“Why limit it to the rivers? Why not all bodies of water?” 

Sherlock frowned. “Like the canals and underground rivers?”

“Sure. Why not even the sea?”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Course not brother mine. I’m happy you’re showing an interest in the case again. But we do need to have a talk.” 

Sherlock squinted at Mycroft. “No time. I have to find my blogger.”

 

Sherlock gingerly got up from the table and rushed to the front door grabbing his coat. As he was opening the door he realized he didn’t have the phones. Turning back around to confront Mycroft he almost ran right into his brother.

“Phones?”

“Don’t you think it’ll be quicker with my help?”

Sherlock noticed that Mycroft now had his own coat on.

“I have the homeless network.” 

“We can work together. You can utilize your homeless network,” Mycroft proposed with derision, “and I can use my pull within the government.”

“Why?” 

“I worry about you alone; having John back will guarantee that you aren’t.”

“Yes, but why? Why do you care if I’m alone? Why do worry about me? Why are _you_ helping me?”

Mycroft’s stern look soften just a little around the edges. “Sherlock, you will always be my little brother, and I will always look out for you. It’s my job.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft and seeing the truth of his statement in his eyes. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. They had never been the openly sharing and caring sorts.

Having John taken from him had forced Sherlock to really look at the people in his life and see their value. To see where _they_ enhanced _his_ life. If these people were gone it would impact Sherlock, his world would slowly stop making sense. He was grateful to these select few and once he got John back he wanted to show his appreciation to these people. 

On a whim Sherlock pulled Mycroft into a quick embrace. But even in that brief moment he felt his brother’s arm come up quickly to embrace him back. 

Releasing Mycroft, Sherlock said, Okay old man, let’s be on with it.” Mycroft started out the door, but Sherlock blocked his way, holding out his hand. Mycroft glanced at his hand as if he had no clue what Sherlock wanted. “The phones Mycroft.” Sherlock wiggled his fingers to spur Mycroft into action.

Giving a forced smile Mycroft handed over the phones. 

First thing Sherlock did was check John’s phone. The message that Mycroft said came in from Harriet was there, as well as Mycroft’s response. Funny. Sherlock would have put money on it that Mycroft had lied today him. And he was certain that his and John’s phone had different alert tones. Shrugging it off he slid into the car beside Mycroft. He looked to the left and to the right, “What, no Anthea?”

“Not tonight brother mine. I didn’t want her in harm's way.” 

The driver turned around to address the brothers, “But I couldn’t allow you two to muck it up and have all the fun, could I?” 

Sherlock chuckled, it was Anthea. 

“Nice to see you again Sherlock.”

“Likewise.”

“I have taken the liberty of getting the helicopter fueled up, and there will be heat signature goggles on board. All we need to do is get you in touch with some of your homeless network.”

“And this Anthea is why I am fond of you.” Mycroft said stoically. 

 

The trio traveled to an undisclosed location. On the outside, the building looked run down and dilapidated. They entered the building and went up the stairs to the roof where a helicopter waited, along with a couple of people who looked homeless. Sherlock looked to Anthea, she smiled. The circle of people he needed to thank and appreciate more was growing. 

 

One of the homeless people was a middle aged man that Sherlock often affectionately referred to as old Joe was there, as well as two women he didn’t recognize and an elderly gentleman he sometimes played chess with. “Hey Fred.” Sherlock said in greeting and nodded to the others present. “I'm looking for John." Sherlock explained to Fred. And to the others he described John as effectively as he could. "He was taken against his will and is guarded by at least 3 other people; two men and a woman.” Sherlock describe the three of them as well. “I suspect that they are holed up somewhere along the waterways. And maybe somewhere that has access roof land a helicopter.” Sherlock took money out of his wallet and went to offer it to the people. “There will be more for you if you can bring me back some info.”

One of the women spoke up. “We’ve been paid already and were promised more as well if we are proven helpful.”

“Oh. Well, in that case. If you find something out useful before seeing me again you can go to the restaurant Angelo’s off of Baker Street and Northumberland, ask for Angelo and he can get me the message and I will make sure you get paid.” The vagrants nodded their understanding and dispersed.

Sherlock turned back towards his small party, he pulled Anthea into a quick hug. When he released her she looked at Mycroft shocked. 

Mycroft shrugged and said, “He’s been doing that lately, if you have a rolled up newspaper or a spray bottle perhaps we can break him of that annoying little habit.” Anthea smiled and shoved Mycroft playfully before climbing into the helicopter as it started up. 

Sherlock entered last. He smiled. This was a rare side of the two of them. He never seen Anthea act as anything other than aloof. And his brother cracking jokes? Unheard of. It was nice for a change. 

 

The three of them put on the heat signature goggles and turned outwards so they could watch the streets and waterways below them. They were probably looking for a run down building that would turn out to be luxurious stronghold on the inside. They flew over the south side or the River Thames towards the North Sea, they had almost reached The outlet when the pilot informed them them would need to turn around before they ran out of fuel. On the return trip the group scouted the north side of the river. All at once Anthea and Sherlock both exclaimed, “Over there!” and “Right there!”

This area of the river was sparsely populated but there had to be at least 20 people registering on their heat signature goggles inside the building below. Mycroft spoke low into his mobile phone and they continued on back into the city. “What are you doing?” Sherlock asked. 

“Calm down baby brother. This is what I do remember? Invade small countries. I’ll have a team moving in on them shortly. They're already enroute. Had we landed on that building with the helicopter we would have alerted them to our presence and they would have been gone long before we could even do anything.”

Sherlock leaned back in his seat, saying nothing but continuing to look out over the land. 

Mycroft picked up his phone and after a few moments sighed heavily. He hung up without any words being spoken. 

Anthea having had worked with Mycroft for a time and well versed in his nonverbal language understood, she placed a hand on Sherlock's and said, we’ll keep looking, don’t worry.”

“What?”

“The building wasn’t the right one. John wasn't there.”

“But it’s on the river and in a deserted area. There were a lot of people in there, you saw them!”

“The homeless.” Mycroft said simply. 

Sherlock sat back again. Feeling defeated. He had felt so sure that they would find John tonight. He had no real reason to believe that but it had been a gut feeling. Apparently it was more like wishful thinking.

Sherlock had dozed off when they reached the city limits of London. Anthea and Mycroft continued to look even though the river was running out below them. 

When they landed Sherlock rubbed his eyes and yawned. The slight jolt from their landing had awakened him. Just as he was climbing out of the helicopter his phone rang. It was an unknown number and certainly not the number that Moriarty had been calling him from. Thinking it might be someone from his homeless network Sherlock answered it, sticking a finger in his other ear to block out the whir of the helicopter blades.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock?”

“Sherlock speaking.” it was really hard for him to hear the other person, it sounded as if they were trying to be quiet.”

“Sherlock! Bloody hell, can you hear me?”

“John?” Sherlock stopped walking, Anthea and Mycroft stopped as well, looking at him expectantly.

“John is that you?”

“Yes dammit. I don’t have long before they come in here and probably beat the shit out of me. I knocked out one of the guards and took their mobile phone to call you. Sherlock, Moriarty has me on a boat.” 

“Where?”

“Dammit Sherlock I don’t know. I didn’t see any street signs in the water!”

“Do you see _anything_?”

“I’ve only been on the deck once and I don't recall seeing anything at all. No shore, no nothing.”

“I'll find you John, I promise. Just try to lay low.”

The phone went dead. Sherlock tried not to despair. John had jumped a guard, taken his phone and called him. Moriarty was sure to retaliate.

* * *

John heard footsteps and rushed to hide the phone under a loose board he had found in the bathroom. He hurried back out to his room and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the newspaper, elbows resting on his knees. He had used the phone in the shower stall the one place he hadn’t seen a camera. And he hoped he had been discreet when he slipped the phone from the guard’s pocket.

Someone tried to open the door, but the guard’s body was stopping it from opening fully. 

“John, move him please.” this came from Mary. She had her head in the room looking down at the guard. 

John got up and dragged the guard away from the door a couple of feet. 

When Mary entered she didn’t look happy. She had Moran and Moriarty behind her. 

“John, I see we’re back to misbehaving again. Why would you attack my guard? He’s only here for your protection. You know, in case someone in my employment wanted to harm you, he would keep them from doing so.”

“Sorry, I was just feeling a bit angry.”

Moriarty laughed good naturedly. Well we can’t have that can we?” Moriarty inclined his head towards John, Mary and Moran both approached him on the bed. John didn’t know what they had in plan, a good beating maybe, he had saw that coming. But instead Moran snatched the paper from him, he and Mary held him down on the bed. Moriarty approached pulling out a syringe. “Bad boys get punished John. I wish I had time to punish you more effectively,” Moriarty was standing between his legs staring down at him suggestively, “but I have a meeting I have to get to. I’m leaving Moran in charge, Mary’s coming with me, she has a specific skill set I need to utilize. Anyways, I'm telling you this so you know you’ll be on your own here for a couple of days. Completely at Sebastian’s mercy. So it is in your best interest to be on your best behavior.” Moriarty leaned over John, his mouth a  scant inch from John’s. John though Moriarty would try and kiss him and he braced himself for than invasion; but he didn’t. He laid over him, breathing in John's discarded breaths, and then he plunged the syringe into his neck. John open his mouth on a silent cry of pain. Doing so caused his lips to brush lightly against Moriarty’s. 

Moriarty closed his eyes for a brief moment as if he was savoring the moment. And then he was up and moving away from John. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a war to go start. See you when I get back." Moriarty sauntered out of the room. Mary and Sebastian let John go and then picked the guard up, carrying him out. 

John had a moment to think to himself that he was a bit sorry about the guard.

* * *

Sherlock looked down at his phone in disbelief. Anthea quickly snatched his phone away, her finger moving swiftly. She then handed it back to Sherlock. It was now running a GPS program and there was a red dot flashing on the screen. Even better,aazzazazza   the dot was in the middle of the North ocean and it wasn’t far from where they just left. “Is this John’s location?”

She nodded. “Yup, courtesy of the phone he just called you from. Luckily the phone's GPS was already on. But even if it had not been, we could have turned it on manually and then tracked him, but at least this way things are progressing much faster.”

 

The Holmes brothers and Anthea descended the stairs and went back to the car waiting on the street. Sherlock felt giddy. A couple of hours ago they were heading up the stairs to look for John and after a stroke of good luck they had found him. Sherlock was leaving this portion in Mycroft’s hands. His brother had been on the phone the moment Anthea had locked into the GPS system on John’s borrowed phone. 

They arrived at another nondescript building, filing out and going inside. Once inside Sherlock could see it was clearly a active satellite office. There were people at desk and on phones. And a group of men waited by a closed door in the back. Sherlock would bet money the closed door was Mycroft’s office. 

Mycroft didn’t disappoint. He walked directly to the closed door and into the office, Sherlock and Anthea followed directly behind, and the group of men walked in next. 

“Sherlock, these men will be responsible for getting John Watson out alive. I figured you might want to meet them before anything is attempted.”

“I’m going too.”

“Sherlock this isn’t one of your little cases. Getting there undetected will be dangerous. Getting back even more so. I don’t want to have to tell mummy I allowed you to get yourself hurt or worse killed. She’d have my head.”

“I’m going. He’s my-”

“Your what?” Mycroft challenged.

“I’m going.” Sherlock said simply. 

 

Mycroft typed on his computer and then turned the monitor around so everyone in the room could see it. It was a grainy view of a medium sized commercial fishing boat. It was literally the only thing to be seen in the North Sea at the moment. 

“This is a satellite image of the boat John is on. It is too close to land to send a submarine out there and and too far out to use a rowboat or other manual means of transportation. Do you gentlemen have any ideals?”

“How about parachuting in?”

“Planes are loud. Next.” Mycroft reprimanded with his tone alone.

“Parasailing?”

“Boats are loud. Next.” Mycroft put a hand to his forehead looking and sounding embarrassed.

“Hang gliding.” Sherlock suggested sounding extremely annoyed. “A person can literally glide for hours. And it’s quiet.”

Mycroft turned to the men, “Have any of _you_ ever gone hang gliding?” Only one man held up his hand. Sherlock looked absolutely triumphant as he rocked back and forth on his heels. 

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his forehead again.

“He and I will be enough. We’ll hang glide to the boat and swim out to a waiting boat on the return trip. Simple.” Sherlock explained, trying to appeal to Mycroft.

“And what about John Watson? And the condition of the water?” Mycroft questioned. 

“I weigh less than this gentleman so I will carry an extra wetsuit for John. The wetsuit will be enough to protect us from the cold temperature of the water.” 

“And what of this boat that is to come get you out of the water?”

“I’m sure you have a speed boat that can get to us quickly; once we are overboard stealtiness is not important.”

“How will I know when to send someone to get you?” 

“Flare gun before I go over the side.”

“And what if John is hurt and unable to get off the boat on his own?”

Sherlock stared at Mycroft and said, “We’re going over no matter what.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock finished suiting up in the wet suit. He hated that Mycroft had made them wait until the dead of night; he was so wound up he could barely sit still. Anthea helped him attach the small pack containing John’s wetsuit and a small first aid kit to his back. The harness for the glider went on over that. He and his _escort_ Andrew were now both suited up and itching to go. So not to be obvious they would be traveling to Clacton-on-the-sea and launching from this location, based on the satellite image of the boat they would have to glide for roughly eight to ten miles in a Southeastern direction.

 

Mycroft hammered home all the dangers Sherlock would encounter tonight, aside from the ones he would face on the boat. Sherlock understood all of this, he was just anxious to get on with it.

He double checked the pockets in his wet suit, making sure he had the small knife and the electronic device that Anthea said would shut down all surveillance on the boat when activated.

 

“Ready?” Mycroft asked. Worry was etched around his face as he asked.

“Yes. More than ready.”

Sherlock and Andrew followed Mycroft upstairs to a waiting Chinook helicopter. They would be flying to Clacton-on-the-sea and they would launch from the helicopter onto their projected path. Launching from the helicopter was a bit more tricky but Sherlock was confident he could do it.

Thirty minutes later the helicopter was in place; and Sherlock and Andrew had their gliders attached and ready to launch. Sherlock heard in his ear, _“You launch in five, four, three, two, launch.”_ Sherlock launched first followed closely by Andrew.

 

Both men launched without encountering any problems, they glided effortlessly for several miles sticking to their projected course. They were sailing over the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water. Andrew was gliding a bit lower than Sherlock, wanting to take the lead. He seemed a bit cocky to Sherlock but he felt most secret military men were.

In the dark of night it was hard to tell, but it looked like Andrew was dropping altitude already. “Andrew adjust your sail, you’re dropping too soon.” Sherlock called out over the mic attached to the earpiece.

“You’re mistaken Holmes. I can see the ship already, if we don’t drop altitude now we will overshoot the ship altogether.”

“Andrew listen to me, adjust your speed so your descent slows, otherwise you _will_ undershoot the ship.”

“I'm the professional Holmes, I know what I am doing.”

Sherlock cursed. Sherlock knew he was correct to stay on the projected path a while longer, but there was nothing he could do to make the other man listen so Sherlock ignored the other man completely. It was still too soon to see the ship, he wasn’t even sure what Andrew thought he saw. The night was clear and so was the water.

Sherlock stayed on his course for another couple of miles, and when he saw the ship about half a mile ahead he started his descent.

He and Mycroft had discussed the fact that they should land on the far side of the ship. The deck was not only the widest there but also the stairs located on this side would be closest to where ever they were keeping John.

 

Sherlock was coming in low; he was almost to the ship when he heard what sounded like a gunshot. Something whizzed by his head. He looked down, Andrew was at the edge of the ship firing up at him. Sherlock cursed and maneuvered out of firing range. Another shot rang out piercing his sail. Sherlock started descending much faster than he wanted to, the only consolation was that at least he was over the ship. Sherlock put his feet out to try and slow down, running, bouncing up and down off the deck as the glider caught small pockets of wind. Another shot rang out. Sherlock decided to ditch the glider altogether. He hit a release lever on the side that operated like that on a parachute only it released the hang glider from the harness that Sherlock was wearing. The glider flew back and Sherlock heard a muffled oof. He rolled with the impact of the sudden release. He was still several meters away from where the stairs should be.

Sherlock took a brief moment to catch his breath before he was back up and running for the stair case.  He was about half of the way there when he was tackled from behind. Sherlock went down hard, the attack jarring. He put out his hands to try and brace but only succeeded in jamming a wrist and scraping his hands. His assailant turned him over, straddling his hips. Wasting no time Andrew immediately punched Sherlock in the face twice, twice back to back. When Andrew pulled back to punch him again Sherlock bucked his hips up throwing the man forward and at the same time he lifted his head, headbutting his attacker.

Sherlock pushed the stunned man off of him; moving quickly Sherlock scrambled to his feet and kicked Andrew in the chest knocking the wind out of him and again in the face. The man went down hard not moving. Sherlock checked his pulse, he was still alive. Sherlock thought briefly about dropping him overboard but he wasn’t a murder. He dragged the man over to the railing, he undressed  Andrew halfway and with the man's own wetsuit he tied him to the rail. It wouldn’t hold him for long, but it’ll slow him down if he woke up before Sherlock could get off the ship.

 

Sherlock had to assume Andrew was working for Moriarty and he had alerted everyone on the ship to his plan to rescue John. At the very least, someone had to have heard the gunshots, Sherlock proceeded downstairs with caution.

 

John heard what he thought was a gunshot. He heard it again. Several loud thumps were heard over his head. What in the world was going on? He hadn’t been awake long. Whatever Moriarty had given him this time wasn’t as strong or John wasn’t given as much. He still felt a bit groggy but he was positive something was going on upstairs. Things got quiet upstairs, John strained to hear something, anything. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his door slowly creak open. What he saw next had him rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things; a head full of unruly dark curls breached the door. _Sherlock?_ Couldn’t be, that was much too quickly since he had contacted him. John was certain he was dreaming.

 

Sherlock entered the room and saw John staring at him looking baffled. He was so relieved he rushed over to John, crushing his mouth to the shorter man’s, only allowing himself a second to appreciate the softness of John’s lips. Sherlock pulled away, looking John over, taking him in. Sherlock saw the fading bruises and healing cuts on his face, but he was still a sight for sore eyes. Sherlock pulled him into a tight hug, not wanting to let him go, but knowing they were pushing their luck. “Oh thank goodness I found you. We have to go, _now_.”

John knew he must be dreaming. Sherlock just kissed him full on the lips. “Sherlock, am I dreaming?”

“No and we must go-”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Sebastian Moran interrupted.

 

Sherlock sized up Moran, he didn’t remember the man being so big. He quickly shrugged out of the small pack tossing it to John. “Put this on while I take care of him.”

Moran smiled and approached Sherlock with a slow swagger, like he felt he had all the time in the world. “Handle me? What makes you think you can handle me Mr. Holmes? I’ve been handling you since this started.”

“And that’s exactly it, I have a bone of contention to discuss with you Moran.”

Sherlock squared off with Sebastian, the men circling one another looking for an opening. Suddenly Moran lunged for Sherlock and Sherlock deftly shifted out of his way, pushing the man off balance in the process. Moran reached for him again. And again Sherlock avoided his hold. On Moran’s third pass Sherlock twisted _into_ Sebastian ramming his elbow into Moran’s temple. Moran cried out falling to the floor in a motionless heap. Sherlock grabbed the c.d. player on the small table and dropped it in the middle of Sebastian Morgan’s back.

Sherlock turned to John. He now had the wetsuit on and Sherlock felt a twinge of regret that he hadn’t been able to watch John put it on. Grabbing John’s hand Sherlock pulled him out of the room and toward the stairs. Sherlock moved swiftly but cautiously. “You can swim right?” he asked John.

“Yes.”

“We’re going overboard.”

“I sorta guessed that when I saw the wetsuit.”

 

Sherlock went up the stairs first, checking for Andrew. He didn’t see the man, dammit. He continued on out of the stairwell looking for the traitor. Sherlock was turning to tell John it was safe to come out when Andrew rushed him. He used the other man's momentum against and flipped him over his head as they fell to the ground. Both men scrambled to their feet. “Andrew just let us go and I won’t have to hurt you.”

“Sorry Holmes, I work for Moriarty, failure is not an option.” Andrew pulled out the knife that Mycroft had given them. He rushed Sherlock holding the knife menacingly out in front of him. Sherlock quickly pulled the flare gun out and shot Andrew in the stomach with it. “I warned you.” Andrew screamed as the flare rapidly burned through his wetsuit and down to his skin.

 

John stood off to the side staring at the burning man, showing no emotions or concern. Sherlock shot the gun into the air two more times, sending out the last two flares so that the boat would start it’s race across the water to come and pick them up.

The men climbed up on the railing; Sherlock took John’s hand as they jumped into the frigid water. Both men were pulled beneath the water by the impact of their jump. When they came up John’s teeth were chattering. Sherlock looked up to the sky trying to orient himself. When he found the north star he began swimming with John right beside him.

Just as they were beginning to feel the burn in their muscles Sherlock heard the boat. Their wetsuits had built in reflectors on them so that the driver of the boat could see them and wouldn’t run them over. The boat stopped several feet away from them idling. As the men swam to the back of the boat the driver met them there, it was Mycroft himself, he had two blankets waiting for the men. “Nice to see you again Dr. Watson. Let’s get you boys home.”

 

John was wrapped up in blankets sitting in his chair across from Sherlock who was also wrapped up in blankets. Sherlock's hair was still wet and in disarray from his showers. John wanted to run his fingers through it. He was nursing a hot cup of coffee with a shot of bourbon. Mycroft was standing by the fireplace leaning lightly on his umbrella. “So, you’re telling me that James Moriarty and Mary Morstan wasn’t on the ship? Only Sebastian Moran.”

“Um, yeah, that’s correct. Moriarty said he had a war to go start and he needed Mary’s specific skill set to help.”

“Sherlock. You never said what happened to Andrew. The last we heard before losing contact was you telling him he was going in too low.”

“Andrew worked for Moriarty, and he tried to kill me.”

“And? What happened to him Sherlock?”

Sherlock had opted for tea, he took a sip of it before answering Mycroft. “He received a scolding for his efforts.”

John barked out a laugh at Sherlock’s play on words.

“I guess I will leave you two to it. I’m sure you are both tired and have some catching up to do. I trust I don’t have to warn you about being careful and mindful of your surroundings? Moriarty is still out there.”

“Quite right, goodnight Mycroft.”

When Mycroft had left, John and Sherlock continued to sit in their chairs staring at one another. They had both already showered, doing so as soon as they had gotten home. Sherlock let John go first knowing he might be needing the comforts of home. And now here they were silently taking it all in. Sherlock broke the silence first.

“I was at the opera that night.”

“Were you? At intermission I thought I had seen you leaving. I wasn’t sure though.”

“You seemed very at home and unconcerned.”

John saw where this was going. He didn’t know if Moriarty had sent Sherlock any of those pictures, but if he had John imagined Sherlock wouldn’t have kissed him the way he had. “Well, you know, it was a very nice evening, as long as you don’t take in account the multiple snipers with points on the back on a dozen innocent people. Or the fact that Moriarty was knee deep in an emotional and mental mind game with me and I had to fight off his advances. But I enjoyed the show, I had never been to an opera, and Mary was pleasant.”

“Mary...”

“Yeah she was the female henchman that gave me these.” John pointed at the bruising on his face.

“But she was _pleasant_?”

“I had to fight her off as well. I think she was also instructed to play mind games with me as well, you know just in case I didn’t like men.”

“And do you, like men that is?”

John held eye contact with Sherlock. So this was it. “There is _one_ that I like. But like is sort of a weak word in comparison to what I actually feel for him.”

Sherlock swallowed. He had been lamenting the lost of this moment the whole time John had been gone, worried that he wouldn’t get the chance to tell the other man how he felt. But now that John was back and it was happening, Sherlock couldn’t. He wasn’t ready. His heart rate was up, he felt like his pyjamas were too tight and suffocating. And suddenly the blankets were too much and he was hot.

John saw the signs of Sherlock panicking and he wasn’t sure how to stop it, or help him through it. He was never sure how to help. He shrugged off his blankets and scooted forward towards Sherlock. “The thought of him was the only thing that kept me going this week. To be honest, it’s almost the only thing that keeps me going most days.” John scooted forward some more, almost the way you did with a spooked animal. John watched with some amusement as Sherlock tried to make himself disappear through the back of the chair.

Sherlock scooted as far back in the chair that he could. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. He started hyperventilating.

John watched as the color drained from Sherlock’s face and started blinking rapidly, breathing heavily. He was going to bolt. John could see it. Sherlock Holmes was going to run. The same man who didn’t hesitate to hang glide onto a ship possibly full of armed men, the same man who didn’t hesitate to pull him into his arms and kiss him quickly before knocking out the head henchman. Sherlock was going to-

Sherlock popped out of his chair and was out the door of their flat.

John heard the door downstairs open and slam shut. He shook his head and smiled grimly. He saw it happening. He called it, but it still hurt just a tad. John knew it wasn’t personal, Sherlock just didn’t know how to process strong emotions.

 

Sherlock stood on the stoop of their building bent at the waist, hands resting on his knees breathing heavy.

“You surprise me Sherlock; you didn’t even last ten minutes. Honestly, I knew you would run away.You’re so predictable.”

Startled Sherlock looked up to see Mycroft looking at him. He was leaning against the black sedan that had brought them home. And he was clearly judging Sherlock going by the look on his face, and Sherlock got the distinct impression that Mycroft found him lacking.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to do it. You’ve been waiting your whole life for someone like John Watson and the moment things get official you run. Tell me brother mine, when did you become a coward?” Mycroft walked over to Sherlock, “I have always admired your ability to dance to your own tune, to do what you wanted despite what others might think, and yet here you are on the front stoop of your flat with no shoes or your bloody coat all to avoid talking about feelings.”

“I’m not ready Mycroft. I can’t do this.” Sherlock admitted.

“We are rarely ready when it happens. Think of it like the the old saying by Shakespeare, ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’ Love if you can find it in it’s purest form is greatness, and most are seldom ready when it finds them, it is thrust upon them.”

Sherlock’s breathing was now under control, the adrenaline rush he had experienced on account of the fight or flight feeling brought on by John’s near confession was fading. He could feel the coldness seeping up through the soles of his feet and it whipped around his body and still damp hair. He shivered. He looked from Mycroft to the door behind him. At this moment he rather stand out here and freeze. He really wasn’t ready. But on the other hand, John didn’t deserve this. He had been through so much already, and then to come home and to be rejected by someone he said he considered to be his best friend. Cruel. And Sherlock was never intentionally cruel. He could do this. Or at least partially. John deserved an answer or an explanation or something.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! This is the second time in less than twenty-four hours that I had to proverbially knock some sense into you. John Watson is a good man. He deserves the best. And by God Sherlock you _are_ the best. Stop doubting everything and nothing all at once and get in there and show that man he choose correctly.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft through squinted eyes. “Who are you? And what have you done with my snotty, stuck up, stoic brother?”

 

John chose that moment to come out the front door. He carried Sherlock’s slippers and coat. “I figured if you were going to be out here, might as well not freeze to death. Didn’t realize your brother was still here.”

“Still playing the nursemaid I see John.” Mycroft remarked snidely.

John chose to ignore the comment and placed the slippers on the ground in front of Sherlock, and wrapped the coat around his shoulders. Sherlock hadn’t looked at him, had not moved since he'd came out, making John feel extremely little, invisible even. “Goodnight Mycroft.” John turned to walk back inside when Sherlock reached out and wrapped his cold hand around John’s wrist.

“Thank you John. But I’ll be coming back inside now.” Calling over his shoulder Sherlock said, “Goodnight brother.”

“Goodnight Sherlock.”

 

Once back upstairs John locked the flat up and started to head for the stairs to his room, he was exhausted despite being unconscious earlier this evening.

“John.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we continue the conversation we were having before I rudely ran out.”

John didn’t turn around, he kept his back to Sherlock. “We don’t have to Sherlock, it’s quite alright.”

“No John, it’s not.” Sherlock placed a hand on John’s shoulder, not turning him around, wanting John to make the move himself.

After a few steadying breaths John turned around, but did not meet Sherlock’s gaze.

“You were brave enough to talk, I can at least be brave enough to listen.” Sherlock paused, “Except I think it’s my turn to talk now and your turn to listen.”

John still did not look up at Sherlock, he couldn’t make eye contact, he had lost his nerve and he was uncertain to what Sherlock would say. When Sherlock had showed up to rescue him he had no doubt in his mind that before the night ended Sherlock would know that he loved him. And he had thought Sherlock would tell him the same. But in typical Sherlock fashion he did the unexpected.

“John. You are more than I deserve. You always look out for me, even when I am being an insufferable arse. When you were intoxicated you said something that floored me.”

John tensed. He didn’t remember a lot about those nights, and Sherlock had never told him what it was that he had said that had upset him.

“You said you knew you were dreaming because I would never look after you or dot on you.” Sherlock paused, trying to get his emotions in check. “I am so sorry. You were correct. You are forever doing for me, looking out for me when my head is in the clouds. You keep me right John. When you were gone I was miserable and didn’t eat or drink or bathe; I was so close to relapsing. Mycroft had to come over and knock some sense into me. Lestrade helped too. Point I'm trying to make is...I love you John Watson. And more importantly I need you in my life. I can’t do this,” Sherlock gestured wildly with his hands, “any of it, if I don’t have you. You make it all worthwhile.”

John glanced up, reaching out a hand and wiped an errant tear from Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock jerked back looking at John’s finger as if he didn’t know what it was. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Treacherous body.

 

John didn't know what to say to Sherlock. His words weren’t beautifully reversed or embellished on like he sometimes did when it came to explaining a case. They were raw and straight from the heart. And when Sherlock had began to tear up, John thought he himself might cry. Sherlock Holmes was finally opening up to him. And he had said he loved him. Wow. He hadn’t stuttered over  the words like he was just realizing it for himself. That meant he had come to terms with the fact that he loved him long before this moment.

John took a moment to let all this sink in. He imagined he must look a lot like Sherlock did when he was processing emotional information.

Finally he looked up to Sherlock, locking eyes, “I love you too, you idiot. I think I always have.”

Sherlock allowed for a smile to slowly spread across his face. John loved him. And was okay with the development.

“I missed you so much while I was gone. I missed even the crazier moments. I just missed being around you, talking with you, arguing with you. Even you telling me that I see but do not observe a billion times. But truth be told I missed you long before being kidnapped. I missed the moments that happened while I was drunk. The fact that you held me on the couch. I missed when you took care of me while I was again too drunk to realize it. I missed when you cried while holding me. Why did you cry Sherlock?”

“If you don’t recall any of this, how do you know of it?”

“Oh yeah. Moriarty has the place under surveillance. He showed me photos of us. Some of us by ourselves and some of us together. But the one that touched me the most was you holding me that first night and crying. Tell me.”

 

Sherlock sighed and moved over to the animal skull on the wall running his hands around it looking for a camera. It would have to be somewhere that was at an angle to get his face in the shot. He looked around the sitting room with his hands on his hips. Then walked over to the bookcase, running his hands along the frame and methodically searching each shelf. “I cried, if you must know, because I thought you were only choosing me because you were drunk and I seemed available. I felt like that was the closest I would ever get to having anything real with you.” Sherlock found the camera and yanked it down. “But I must admit, I was fully prepared to force feed you alcohol for the rest of your life.”

John smiled at Sherlock's joke. Wait, he was joking right? “You were joking, right Sherlock?”

Sherlock tossed the camera onto the couch and approached John, pulling him into his arms. “I missed you too John. Don’t ever leave me again.”

“It wasn’t my-”

Sherlock shut him up with a kiss. It was a gentle brushing of their lips. John thought this was even better than on the ship. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, holding onto him. He sighed softly, feeling extremely content.

Sherlock took advantage of this and slipped his tongue past John’s parted lips, languidly stroking their tongues together. “Mmm, that’s nice.” John murmured as he pulled away. He swayed a bit on his feet, Sherlock tightened his hold on him. “I’m alright, just deathly tired. And I might still have the drugs they shot me up with in my system.”

“Drugs?”

“Yeah, I swear it was almost like being back home. They slipped unknown substances in my food. Randomly stuck me with syringes.”

Sherlock let John go and started to pull him towards the stairs, turning out the sitting room lights as he went.

 

“What are you doing Sherlock?”

“Taking care of you for a change. You’re asleep on your feet.”

“Well if this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”

Sherlock led John up the stairs and to his bedroom. Letting John go he turned down the sheets and tucked John in.

“Sherlock, will you stay?”

Sherlock paused before answering, “Of course.”

Sherlock turned out the bedroom lights and climbed into the bed beside John, pulling the shorter man into his arms.

“Goodnight Sherlock.”

Sherlock kissed John on top of his head and responded, “Welcome home John.”

 

The next morning John woke up to Sherlock stroking his back. He yawned. “Good morning. Am I still dreaming or are you really here?”

Sherlock placed a kiss against John’s temple. “I’m here John. For real.”

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist pulling him closer against him, loving the feel of another warm body. “I’m glad you’re here.” John said simply.

“Me too.”


	13. Chapter 13

Sherlock lowered his head and kissed John chastely. 

John smiled against his lips. “Mmm, I could get use to waking up to this.”

“It is rather nice isn’t it?”

“I’m starving.” John said in true John fashion. Right on cue his stomach growled out an affirmative.

“Well then, let’s get you fed.” Sherlock gave him another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before scrambling over John and hopping out of the bed and trotting downstairs. 

John smiled as he rolled over onto his back. This was truly nice. He was experiencing the same euphoria he normally felt after sex. Giving John further validation to the thought that whatever was developing with Sherlock was right.

John rolled out of bed and made his way downstairs. 

 

Sherlock was furious. Not only at the photos he was looking at, but at the implication that someone had been in their flat while they had been upstairs sleeping. Ordinarily Sherlock was a rather light sleeper, had he been downstairs in his own room he most likely would’ve heard them. He heard John come downstairs and could practically hear his happiness shatter, just like his had upon walking into their sitting room. Moriarty or one of his men had been in their home and had taped pictures of every size, on every surface in the sitting room. 

 

John halted as soon as he stepped into the sitting room. All the pictures Moriarty had faked were staring at him. He felt horrible. Even though he had been unconscious for all but two of them, he knew the pictures looked very consensual. 

“Sherlock, this isn’t what it looks like. All of these pictures I was drugged and unconscious. Except for these two.” John pulled two 4x6 size photos from the fireplace. One of them was the photo of Moriarty kissing him at the opera and the other was one John hadn’t seen before, but recognized the moment. It was when Moriarty was leaning over him getting ready to plunge the syringe in his neck just yesterday. “At the opera Moriarty kissed me without my consent and I pushed him off me. I swear. And this one, this was yesterday, this was the last time he drugged me; he had a syringe in his hand he shot me in my neck, and rather roughly too. I’m sure there will be a mark to collaborate my story Sherlock.” John was speaking fast, panicking. He had feared this moment, but foolishly he'd thought he was home free because he was no longer  _ physically _ under Moriarty’s thumb. 

Sherlock turned and handed John the note he had in his hand. It had been taped to his chair.

 

**Sherlock, I’m not upset that you took back your little pet, but he and I was just getting to know each other. He would’ve made a nice addition to my collection, he’s very obedient. Unlike you. But you can keep him, he's all used up now.**

**Jim**

 

“I swear to you Sherlock, nothing happened between Moriarty and myself. Or Mary and me. Nothing happened on that boat other than two people who continually put their hands on me against my will. I wouldn’t do this to you Sherlock.”

“Do what? You owe me nothing. You had all the right and freedom to do whatever you wished while you were  _ kidnapped _ .” Sherlock made the statement as if he no longer believed John was kidnapped. Maybe he and Moriarty were working together for some malicious reason.

John gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. He knew Sherlock lashed out when he was hurt so he was trying not to take it personal; but he hated when his character was called into question. He turned his back on Sherlock before he started to cry out of both anger and frustration in front of the great detective. 

John began pulling the pictures down stacking them all the together. His movements were quick,his anger evident in his actions. 

Sherlock let the pictures he was holding fall to the floor and proceeded to the kitchen. 

 

After several long minutes John was surprised when the smell of food hit him. He finished gathering the pictures together and threw them in the fireplace. It was a little cool in the flat so why  _ not _ start a fire? John lit a match and threw it on the pictures. He watched until nothing was left except for the kindling and the fire itself. John walked into the kitchen and saw that Sherlock had placed a plate of food at John’s usual spot and Sherlock had a plate of food as well. 

 

Sherlock barely touched his food. He was so torn inside. He still wanted to do more for John and he knew they both should eat, more so John then himself; so he’d cooked for them, even though all he wanted to do was visit his mind palace. To be honest Sherlock was also pretty upset about those photos. He kept thinking about all the things John had told him last night, the good things. He also thought about the verbal beatings issued to him from Lestrade and Mycroft.

 

Sighing Sherlock pushed the food aground on his plate. For the first time in his life, Sherlock found himself wanting to ask someone relationship advice. It wasn’t that Sherlock hadn’t had relationships in the past, it was just that none of them had truly mattered. They had been either an attempt to chase away boredom or something he had endured for a case. None had mattered before John Watson. Not even platonically had anyone mattered to him as much as John Watson. Logic would dictate that John was then worth fighting for. But right at this moment Sherlock didn’t know what to do. He stared at John as he sat down at his plate. 

“Thank you Sherlock.”

Sherlock inclined his head in acknowledgement and watched as John started to eat with enthusiasm. It pleased Sherlock that doing small things like this made John happy. Why hadn’t he done them before, sooner? He’d lost so much time, he could have been so much further than he currently was with John had he not been such an insensitive, selfish arse. But then again, had he and John came together way before now, it would’ve made his current situation all the more unbearable. 

He continued to watch John, saying nothing. All of a sudden John got that look in his eye, the one he got when he was working up to saying something, he was going to try and talk about this. Sherlock quickly gathered up his plate tossing the food in the garbage, and hurried to his room. 

 

John shook his head. He was just about to ask-

Sherlock rushed back in the kitchen sliding John’s mobile phone over to him and then back to his room again without a word.

John reached for his phone. No messages or missed calls. John supposed he shouldn’t be too bothered by that; his best friend  _ had _ been out there looking for him. And Lestrade had helped according to Sherlock. And Harry, she was probably on another binge, she wouldn’t have even noticed that he hadn’t called her for their weekly check in to see how she was doing.

 

John finished eating his food and was washing the few dishes when his phone went off. Drying his hands John went to retrieve it. He had no clue who could possibly be texting him. When he looked at his phone it was from an unknown number. Feeling apprehensive John opened the message and saw it was the picture of Sherlock holding him while talking to Stamford. Bloody hell this hurt, Moriarty was a crafty bastard. Seeing that picture under these circumstances made John feel worse. Would he have moments like that with Sherlock? Ever? 

John shoved the phone in his back pocket and went back to the dishes. He was stacking the last of the dishes on the drying rack when his phone went off again. Swearing he pulled out his phone and was surprised to see it was a message from Sherlock. 

**John, please bear with me. I’m trying, but this isn’t easy. I find this sort of thing hard, all of it really.**

**\- SH**

John sat at the table reading the short message over and over again. So, he could at least assume that there was hope. John felt suffocated, he couldn’t stay in the house right now; he needed to get out in the outside world, breath in freedom and clear his mind. With Sherlock a mere room away he couldn’t concentrate. John knew now would not be a good time to talk to Sherlock. 

He kept thinking about the night before, the easy kissing and holding. It hadn’t been weird and it hadn’t felt forced. And now, John couldn’t even talk to Sherlock, let alone touch him. Hell, John would even settle for a fight or argument. But, Sherlock was unapproachable right now. 

 

John went to his room and got dressed, he would go visit Lestrade and tell him thank you for helping Sherlock look for him. John understood that he needed to be extra careful, especially with Moriarty being aware that he was off the boat. John suspected Moriarty had someone else break into their flat and hang all the pictures and write the note. He said he was off to start a war, so unless England was to be apart of that war, he had to have been out of the country.

John didn’t say anything to Sherlock, not even to tell him he’d be back. He figured it would be best to just leave Sherlock alone inside his own head while he figured this all out. 

 

Sherlock sat on the bed, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. He rested his chin atop his knees as he stared down at his mobile phone. Nothing. John didn’t reply back to his message. Tears rolled down Sherlock’s face, he was a mess. Why did he have to be so bloody difficult? Why was he the poster child for emotional stunted growth? Couldn’t Mycroft  have taken his share of emotional issues instead of leaving them all to him?

John had just returned from an emotional ordeal only to find out that he wasn’t completely free off it. What did Sherlock do? He pushed John away instead of drawing him closer and telling him that they could get through it together. 

Maybe John hadn’t texted him back because he was mad at Sherlock or he just didn’t want to give him the time that he’d asked for. Sherlock didn’t know the reasoning buy he fully felt he was to blame for this current snafu. 

 

Slowly sliding from the bed Sherlock left his room to find the kitchen cleaned up and John nowhere in sight. “John?” No answer. He walked out into the sitting room to find that John had cleaned up and apparently burned all of the pictures. It was an improvement on the space for sure.

Sherlock plopped down in his chair, slouching down so that only part of his back was actually against the chair back. He began typing out a message to John on his phone.

**John I’m an idiot come home.**

But then he erased it. John would call him crazy and get mad that he kept changing his mind. He sent Mycroft a message instead.

**John’s gone.**

**\- SH**

**Why?**

**\- M**

**I ran him off.**

**\- SH**

**On purpose?**

**\- M**

**No. Moriarty broke in last night and left me some parting gifts in the way of compromising photos of him and Moriarty.**

**\- SH**

**And you believed these photos Sherlock?**

**\- M**

**Why shouldn’t I?**

**\- SH**

**They came from Moriarty, he is a master of deception. Also it’s John. I’ve never met a more loyal individual to you. Even Redbeard would be jealous.**

**\- M**

**So.**

**\- SH**

**Besides, I hardly think Moriarty is John’s type.**

**\- M**

**Really? And what is his type brother?**

**-SH**

**Tallish. Brooding Sociopath. Smart arse. Introvert. Realist. You, sadly.**

**\- M**

**I don’t brood.**

**\- SH**

**Make it right Sherlock. You’re tempting fate, you won’t keep getting second chances with John.**

**\- M**

Sherlock sat his phone on the floor and proceeded to sulk. Sherlock was sure he wanted a relationship with John, something deeper or more official than they already had, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He should have at least spoke to John about the pictures instead of lashing out. Sherlock sighed, he really was an idiot.

 

John sat across from a grinning Lestrade. Lestrade had given him a big hug when he had walked into his office. And now John was just finishing up the tale of how Sherlock had rescued him.

“And where is the bastard now? I would’ve thought you two would come to tell me the news together.”

John looked away. 

Lestrade's smile dropped. “Oooh no you don’t, you two had a row already didn’t you? Bloody hell you two are un-fucking-believable. And predictable if I might add. I bet Moriarty is probably holed up in a flat across the street from you two laughing his arse off. You two are so crazy for one another you  _ drive _ each other crazy.” Lestrade leaned forward on a roll, “I mean, you two just spent just about a week apart, the longest, I’m willing to bet, since you too met. And instead of being home getting to know each other better, you’re here kicking the shit with me.” Lestrade froze as he took in the blush slowly creeping up John’s face. 

“Unless...you have already, gotten to know each other better last night.” John’s head snapped up. “If you did, it’s none of my business, I’m just saying there are better things to be doing, then sit in Scotland Yard with me.”

John began to speak but Lestrade cut him off, apparently not finished.

“You know what you need to do is do the unexpected. You are always letting Sherlock take point and lead while you follow, bottling up your emotions so you two are a matching set. Be yourself John. Sherlock watches you when you’re unaware, he knows what you’re really like. Do something unexpected, knock him off his feet, snap him out of his self doubt.”

“Self doubt? He doesn’t doubt himself. He doubts me. He thinks I slept with Moriarty.”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“Alright then mate. But trust me, he doubts himself. He always doubt himself. In this situation he’s probably wondering what he did to make you sleep with Moriarty. Moriarty is the guy who kidnapped you right?”

John glared at Lestrade. 

“Just checking, knowing Sherlock, when it comes to you anyways, he is probably making excuses for you. A little Stockholm Syndrome maybe.”

“I did not sleep with Moriarty. He drugged me, took pictures of us in suggestive positions. Fully clothed I might add.”

“So you didn’t sleep with him, did you shag him?” Lestrade said straight faced.

“Oh my God!”

“Calm down John, just having a bit of fun. I was joking. I believe you. Really I do.”

 

Sherlock snapped himself out of his pity party and went to shower, he decided he would make it up to John, he would tell him he didn’t care if he and Moriarty had a  _ thing  _ while on the boat, he only cared that it was over and John was with him now. Wait, he couldn’t say that. They had made nothing official about them. Isn’t that what real couples do? Make it offical, make announcements or something telling all their friends about how happy they were in the moment. And then months down the line they were crying on their best mates shoulder about how miserable they were or how sad they were because it hadn’t worked out. 

Sherlock frowned to himself at the turn his thoughts had taken. He quickly showered dressed and left the house, he had a couple of errands to run before John came home.

 

Later that night Sherlock stood in the sitting room nervous. He hoped John would return this evening and all his work wouldn’t go to waste. 

Sherlock had dragged the table from the kitchen into the sitting room. He’d pushed his and John's chair closer to the couch so that the table would be directly in front of the fireplace which he had relit after it had gone out earlier. Sherlock had borrowed one of Mrs. Hudson’s best linen table clothes and and dressed the table with again borrowed China from Mrs. Hudson. And there were two covered dishes at each place setting. He had timed the arrival of the food hopefully just right so that it would still be hot when John arrived. In the center of the table was a candelabra already lit. And the finishing touch was Sherlock dressed in one of his finest suits, his hair was styled with care; the only thing missing was John Watson. 

 

Sherlock was beginning to fret when he heard the key turn in the door. John walked in. He had his hands full and was struggling to close the door so e hadn’t seen the state of the living room just yet. Ad he got the door closed and turned around, his mouth dropped open; and then he promptly began laughing hysterically. He had to sit the bags on the floor he was laughing so hard. 

Sherlock wasn't’ sure what was so funny but he was taking offense to John’s laughing fit. Here he was in his Sunday best and the sitting room all decked out and John was laughing. 

Sherlock sniffed the air, what was that delicious aroma? “John are you okay? Should I be offended?”

Wiping his eyes John straightened, “Ah, Sherlock. No, no. Sorry about that, it’s just this was so unexpected,” a giggle escaped John again. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just, apparently we had the same ideal more or less. John picked up the bags and bundles off the floor and approached the table. Again he sat them on the floor, this time out of view of Sherlock. John dipped into one bag and brought up a takeout container from their favorite Thai place and sat it on the table at one place setting and then he took out another container and placed it at the other setting. Next he pulled out a bottle of wine setting it near the candelabra. 

John bent over one last time bringing up a small bouquet of flowers. They were wild flowers. He didn’t know if Sherlock liked flowers but he imagined that if he did, his favorite wouldn’t be the usual roses or carnations. John walked over to Sherlock allowing himself to smile, hoping the fact that both of their minds were basically in the same place that it meant Sherlock wanted to give them a try. He placed a kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth as he passed the flowers to the other man. “Sorry about laughing, there, now that's a proper greeting.” John stood too close for just a moment longer before taking a step back. Sherlock looked down at the flowers and smiled softly. He reached behind him and pulled out the bouquet of flowers he had gotten for John. They were sunflowers. Both he and John started laughing. Sherlock got himself under control first. “Sunflowers for the one person who brings light to my life.” Sherlock said in all seriousness. John’s remaining laughter stopped abruptly as he stared up at Sherlock as he continued to talk. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did John. As you of all people know, I am not an easy man to live with or be around, but -” 

Without warning there was an explosion. Sherlock and John was thrown forcibly to the ground. Sherlock took the brunt of the impact his taller frame shielding John from most of the debris. 

John moaned as he struggled to sit up. Sherlock was lying across his calfs. Sherlock wasn’t moving. John panicked scrambling from under the unmoving man so he could check his pulse. John breathed out a sigh of relief, it was there and it was strong. John gingerly checked Sherlock’s limps to see if anything had been broken. His legs looked good as well as his arms. The  trouble was found as John was checking the shoulders and head area. Sherlock had a bone protruding from between his shoulder and neck, Sherlock’s clavicle appeared to be fractured. John continued to check Sherlock’s head and his hands came away sticky. He had a deep gash on the side of his head. 

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile calling for emergency rescue, he explaining the situation and hung up.

“Stay with me Sherlock. If you see any bloody lights stay away from them you hear me?” John sat back on his knees waiting for the ambulance to come. He couldn’t believe their luck. They were finally going to talk and be on the same page, when quite literally, everything explodes in their face. John punched the fireplace out of anger. He didn't feel the stinging pain of all the tiny little lacerations that now covered his fist. 

 

John heard foot steps on the landing, he yelled that they were up here. Two paramedics came in with a spinal board, they laid it on the floor next to Sherlock. As they carefully maneuvered the unconscious man onto it, John was asked what happened.

“I don’t know. Some kind of explosion. We were standing here talking when suddenly we were thrown to the ground. I’m a doctor by the way. From what I could see he has a fractured clavicle and-

“We got it from here doctor. You should come along and get yourself looked at as well.”

  
  


John sat beside Sherlock’s bed. He was loosely holding his hand. Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft and even Anthea were gathered around the room.

Lestrade stood to the side of him and had a hand on his shoulder, he would occasionally Give it a little squeeze. Out of everyone gathered here, besides John, Lestrade seemed the most upset about Sherlock, and then Molly. Of course Mycroft looked unconcerned. But John was betting by the fact that he was here he cared a great deal for his little brother. 

Mycroft spoke quietly, “I appreciate everyone coming to check on my brother. But the doctor said he won’t be waking up anytime soon. Could I please have the room with Dr. Watson?”

Molly walked over giving John a quick kiss on the forehead. Lestrade bent awkwardly and gave him a one armed hug. Anthea simply smiled at him. 

 

When the room was empty save for the three of them, Mycroft took the chair opposite John and Sherlock’s other hand. “John what happened?”

John could hear the beginning of emotions stiring in Mycroft’s voice. John stared down at his and Sherlock’s joined hands. “I had just come home with dinner, and I saw that Sherlock had dinner already waiting. He had rearranged the sitting room so that we would be able to eat in there. We- we were standing between the dining table and the fireplace and- we had no warning, suddenly we were on the ground. Sherlock wasn’t moving. He apparently shielded me from most of the blast...some kind of explosive. Sherlock’s back had shards of glass embedded in it. He hit his head on the corner of the table when he was knocked off his feet, and the angle in which he hit his head caused his clavicle to snap, breaking the skin.”

Mycroft already knew the extent of Sherlock’s injuries, he had wanted to know what exactly happened to lead to the injuries. But he let John talk, it seemed to help him.  John was an extremely strong man, but he handled emotional situations only a tad bit better than Sherlock. 

“The doctor had to relieve pressure off of his brain, there was swelling...some contusions and he is unconscious...he’s in a coma. And they aren’t sure how long- “ John took a deep steadying breath, he felt tears start to fall down his cheeks. “They aren't sure how long he will be in a coma.” John rushed the words. “The doctor said his injuries don’t look significant and they are hopeful for a full recovery in less than a month.”

John wiped at his tears with his free hand. He glanced up and saw Mycroft had tears of his own. 

“I yelled at my brother last night. Before you came outside. And, he texted me today asking for advice. My last words to him...my last words were, “Make it right Sherlock. You’re tempting fate, you won’t keep getting second chances with John.” Why would I say that?” Mycroft broke down in silent tears. 

John was alarmed. He’d never seen Mycroft show any emotion, let alone any vulnerability. John leapt out of his seat letting go of Sherlock's hand and rounding the bed. He covered Mycroft's and Sherlock's hand with his own and wrapped his other arm around Mycroft's shoulders as he silently cried. “We’ll get him back Mycroft. Sherlock won't leave us like this. He’s to stubborn to die.” 

All of a sudden a high pitched alarm went off in the room. John looked to the machine monitoring Sherlock’s vitals, the machines volume are routinely turned low so not to disturb the patients, John could see that Sherlock had flat lined. 

Hurriedly John began chest compressions on Sherlock. Waiting for the hospital staff to get in there with a crash cart. Mycroft had stood up and backpedaled out of the way as the nurse rushed in there with a crash cart. John stepped away and stood near Mycroft. Both men watched helplessly as the nurses worked to save Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock walked around London. It was spring time, the sun was shining, the birds were singing; all seemed well with the world. 

People passed him by on the street, no one looked at him or even tried to avoid walking into him. It was almost as if no one knew he was there. That was odd. Sherlock continued to walk, he couldn’t remember where he was going, or why. He felt like he was forgetting something very important. It was unlike him to forget something important, but he felt it like a hole in his heart, something was missing.  _ Sherlock! _ Sherlock turned and looked behind him. He could’ve swore he heard his name, like a whisper.  _ Sherlock!  _ There it was again. He turned around in a circle trying to find the origin of the voice.  _ Sherlock don’t you dare leave me!  _  John? As soon as Sherlock thought John’s name all the people on the street disappeared and he was in his flat. Sherlock thought he must be dreaming. He looked all around him at the flat. The window was blown out with half the wall missing. Debris littered the floor all around him. Sherlock’s head began pounding, he reached a hand up and felt something wet. Bringing his hand down he saw red; red coating his fingertips. He was bleeding. While looking down at his hand he notice a bone sticking out of his upper chest, blood poured from the wound. “ _ Stay with me Sherlock. If you see any bloody lights stay away from them you hear me?”  _

“John what on earth are you talking about?” A bright light flashed from the kitchen. Sherlock lifted his hand to shield his eyes, he began walking towards the light and then stopped. Wait. John had said stay away from the light. But when he looked at the light his body hurt less. Sherlock started moving towards the light again.  _ Sherlock! Please, I need you.  _ Sherlock turned and looked behind him. John? Sherlock stood there contemplating what to do. He heard another whisper, much lower, he had to strain to hear it.  _ If you die, I will die too. Please don't die Sherlock.  _ Die? Why would he- All at once everything came rushing back to him. He’d been hurt in an explosion. He was dying. But John’s a doctor, he could help him, right?

  
John raised his swollen, red rimmed eyes up to the man on the bed. He could have sworn he felt Sherlock’s hand twitch. Wishful thinking he was sure. Several heartbeats later he thought he felt it again. John glanced up at the monitor. It was no longer flat lined. There was small jumps in the line. Sherlock was alive, barely, but alive. The nurses had called his time of death two minutes ago. John ran from the room looking for the someone, anyone. He saw Mycroft, “Mycroft, get a doctor, Sherlock’s alive!” 


	14. Chapter 14

“What do you mean Sherlock's alive?” Mycroft said bursting through the hospital room door. John looked at Mycroft with so much hope in his eyes, “This is good. This is very good. It means Sherlock is fighting back.” 

“You’re a doctor, why would you ask me to get one of his doctor's.” Mycroft questioned.

“Because Mycroft, I haven’t seen all of his test, one of his doctors would be able to determine the best way to help Sherlock. You heard them earlier, there was no reason for Sherlock to even flatline. Yes he is hurt, but they didn’t see injuries that were significant enough to cause death.”

The doctor rushed in looking at the heart monitor machine, “My God. she said quietly. She checked Sherlock’s vitals manually, once done she pulled out a vial and syringe injecting the liquid into Sherlock's I.V. “This is clearly a miracle. I need to do more test to determine how best to proceed, but it does appear that although Sherlock is back with us, he is still in a coma.” The doctor patted John on the shoulder smiling before she left out.

“I trust you are staying in the hospital with him?” “Yes. Course.” 

“Very well, I will call Mrs. Hudson, and tell her she should stay on with her sister a little while longer.”

“My goodness, I forgot about Mrs Hudson, good thing she wasn’t home.”

“Yes indeed. Goodnight John, you’ll call if there are any new developments.”

“Sure. Goodnight Mycroft.”

 

John bent over Sherlock, brushing his lips gently at the corner of his mouth. He sat back down taking Sherlock's hand. John was struck with how beautiful Sherlock was. Sure, he'd always thought Sherlock was good looking, but seeing Sherlock in such a peaceful state, with his porcelain skin, dark curls, long lashes and and insanely perfect mouth, it just really drove the point home. John laid his head down on his arm. He dozed off thinking about the week, it had been an emotional rollercoaster to say the least.

 

When John woke up he had a cramp in his neck and his back ached. He stood up stretching, walking to the bathroom,  he used the facilities, washed his hands and returned to Sherlock’s bedside. John pulled his chair closer to the head of the bed so that his mouth was near Sherlock's ear, “Good morning beautiful. You know, I would never say that if you were actually awake. You would most likely just find a way to ruin it; by either explaining to me why you couldn't possibly be beautiful or by scoffing at me. I’m extremely happy you are fighting and you didn’t leave me. Had you died, I’m not sure what I’d done, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been far behind you.” 

A nurse walked in while John was speaking to Sherlock, “That’s good. You should definitely keep talking to him, it does the patients good.” She took Sherlock's vitals. “The doctor will be taking Sherlock upstairs for more test shortly. It will take roughly two hours if you would like to run home and eat or shower.” John thanked the lady as she walked out. 

The full gravity of their situation hit him. Their home had been lost; it was now completely uninhabitable. John pulled out his mobile and called Lestrade. “John? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Sure.”

“If it is safe to access the top floor of our flat, could you bring me a change of clothes and also if you could grab a set of pyjamas for Sherlock.”

“Actually John, I’m already on my way to the hospital with those items. I figured you would be needing a change of clothes and I read somewhere that having the normal comforts of home can sometimes help coma victims.”

“You’re a godsend Lestrade. Thank you.”

 

Less than an hour later Lestrade strode in with two nurses. Lestrade sat the bags down behind John and went over to Sherlock’s bedside. 

“We’re here to take Sherlock up for more test Dr. Watson.”

“Right.” John responded. 

“Could you give me one moment please Lestrade asked the nurse. 

“Alright, a moment won't hurt.” The nurse tapped his co-worker and they went to stand outside the door. 

Lestrade placed his hand atop John’s, the same hand that was already holding Sherlock's. John looked up at Lestrade questioningly. 

Lestrade lowered his head and closed his.

“Um, God; I ask that you please watch over my friend Sherlock here. Please help to guide him back to those who love and care for him. I know he can be a bit difficult at times, but you made him that way, so I’m sure there was a reason for it. Ahem, thanks.”

“Thanks Greg. I never took you for a praying man.”

“In my line of work, you learn to become one quickly.” Lestrade walked over to the door and allowed the nurses to enter the room. 

John got out of the way and allowed them to roll Sherlock out of the room.

“And thank you for the clothes too.”

“No problem mate. Do you have somewhere to stay while Sherlock is recovering?”

John gave Lestrade a droll look. “Right here.”

“Course. You let me know if you need anything.”

Lestrade started to walk out of the room when John stopped him. “Hey Greg,”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you might want to know, ahem...Sherlock died last night.”

“What?” Lestrade closed the door and walked back to John. 

“He uh, flat lined and was pronounced dead. Um, and two minutes later his heartbeat was back.” 

Lestrade pulled John into a bone crushing hug. “That bastard. Always gotta have the last word. He’s too stubborn to die.” Lestrade let John go.

“Yeah. That was what I said, right before he flat lined.” 

“He’ll pull through mate. You know how dramatic he can be, he’s had his bit of drama and he’ll be concentrating on getting better now.”

 

After a few moments more Lestrade left leaving John to his own thoughts. John went through the bags Lestrade brought, seeing that Lestrade brought more than just one change of clothes for John, he also brought John’s laptop. John gathered a change of clothes and went to take a shower while he waited for Sherlock to return.

 

John was sitting in a corner out of the way reading the day's paper when Sherlock was wheeled back in the room. 

“Dr. Watson.” The doctor sound absolutely chipper. 

“Hello.”

“All the test came back positive. Or in Sherlock’s favor if you will. I am still waiting on one last test result, but I must say the brain activity is through the roof. His brain waves are operating more like he was lucid dreaming than in a coma.”

“Yeah Sherlock rarely slows down. I’m not surprised.” 

“We have to keep him on the I.V. until he wakes and can eat for himself.”

“Can I change him into a pair of his own pyjamas?”

“Just be mindful of the I.V.”

“Will do, thanks Dr. Saks.”

 

Once the nurse and doctor left back out, John proceeded to undress Sherlock. He got Sherlock in his pyjama top with a minimal amount of ogling. But he was mildly shocked when he relieved Sherlock of the sheets from around his bottom half and saw he wasn’t wearing any pants. He quickly pulled the pyjama bottoms up trying to stay as objective as possible. 

 

Throughout the day Sherlock had several visitors. Sherlock’s parents, Lestrade checked in on him again, bringing John food, as did Molly. John had no appetite and touched none of the food. He had to sit through a lecture by Molly telling him the importance of eating. Even Anderson came by to see how everything was going for Sherlock. And lastly, Mrs. Hudson called crying and extremely upset over the whole matter. John just barely kept it together for her sake.

 

Two weeks go by with little change in Sherlock’s condition. John stayed at the hospital as promised. Only Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson continued to check on Sherlock and John. Mycroft had been up there two more times since the night they almost lost Sherlock. He hadn’t looked well the last time John had seen him. Mycroft had come to deliver the news that they had finished the investigation into the explosion at their flat. They found the remnants of explosives mixed in with the rubble, and it appeared that the explosives had been attached to the outside of the windows so Sherlock and John could’ve walked by it a million times and never saw it. The most troubling part was that the explosives weren’t set on a timer which meant either Moriarty had eyes on their flat like Lestrade had jokingly suggested or there was another camera in the flat allowing Moriarty to set off the charges from a remote location.

 

John was barely sleeping. He was almost dead on his feet. He took little cat naps in between visits from the medical staff, and he was also eating very little which only added to his current state. 

Mrs. Hudson came by the hospital to let John know that the repair of the flat was finally underway. John was glad to hear that. 

Sherlock was scheduled for another EEG later. John hoped for some better news. He kept a log of sorts on his blog updating the masses, or the select few who cared, on Sherlock's progress. He knew that Mycroft monitored the blog as did Sherlock’s parents. 

John rubbed a hand over his face. He felt like he was extra tired today, his eyes felt like there was sand under the lids; he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. John dozed off right after Sherlock had been returned to his room. He saw transport wheel him in and that was all he remembered. 

 

Several hours later something startled John awake, first thing he notice was it was still light outside. He stood and stretched. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but he definitely felt better, he almost felt hungry even. 

John walked to the door going to look for Dr. Saks to see if they had the results from Sherlock’s latest EEG. The nurse told him that the doctor was currently with another patient that she would send him down when he was free. John thanked her and went back to Sherlock’s room. 

John stopped upon entering, something seemed off, he couldn’t put his finger on it but he was positive something wasn’t right. He walked over to Sherlock’s bedside sitting down as he tried to figured out what was different. 

Slowly it dawned on John, it wasn’t one thing, it was a bunch of small things. The first being Sherlock’s hair, it was brushed back away from his face and styled. The heart monitor machine was now on the opposite side of the bed directly in John’s line of vision and it was turned off. The food on the side table that Mrs. Hudson had left for him, the plastic cover was off and someone had eaten about half of it. John jumped up. Who would’ve done this? A hospital staff member wouldn’t have done this. John rushed out to the nurses station and asked had anyone been in Sherlock’s room. The nurse stated she had just come on for her shift twenty minutes ago but she hadn’t seen anyone. 

The nurses station was almost directly across from Sherlock’s room. He’d wait until the doctor came to speak to him to ask if anyone had been scheduled to come in the room after Sherlock had been wheeled down from his test. 

John waited an hour and the doctor never showed up, he went back to the nurses station and inquired on the whereabouts of the doctor again. The nurse made a couple of calls and then told John that the doctor hadn’t showed for any of his other rounds, furthermore his assistance hasn’t been able to reach him since around one p.m. John looked at the time it was almost four, the sun was starting to set. He thanked the woman and went back to Sherlock’s room. When he entered he debated about turning on the lights, there really was no reason to do so. 

 

John sat there in the darkening room; as the room got darker and darker he thought he saw something on the wall directly in front of him, above the heart monitor machine, which he had plugged back in. John rubbed at his eyes, but the faint glow was still there. It almost looked like writing. John got up and closed the blinds to the room making the room pitch black except for the glowing lettering on the wall. 

John’s blood froze as he read the message that could be from none other than Moriarty. John immediately pulled out his phone and took pictures the best he could and then called Mycroft.

“Mycroft, Sherlock is fine but I need you to come to the hospital right away.” 

Next he called Lestrade and told him the same thing except he added that he needed to bring his people for a possible homicide. 

“Well who the bloody hell is dead? You can’t tell me Sherlock is okay and then tell me to bring in my homicide team.”

“I think Sherlock’s doctor from today’s shift might be dead somewhere.”

“Well, I’m already on my way. Stay in the room. And don’t touch anything.” Lestrade disconnected the call and John turned on the lights until the other men got here.

 

They didn't take long to get there, in fact they walked in at the same time. Lestrade had his team stay in the hall as he and Mycroft entered to see what the fuss was about.

“Get the lights.”

Lestrade reached behind him and turned out the lights. 

John heard a sharp intake of breath as they read the message written on the wall.

 

**Hi Johnny Boy!**

**Just a quick note to let you know I haven’t forgotten about you two, and I’m never far away. No matter where you go, I’ll be watching, waiting.**

**Oh! I almost forgot; I had a word with Dr. Saks, we had a difference of opinion.**

**Jim**


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deleted chapter 15 because I realized it was missing some info. Reposting now with the added info. Sorry about that.

“Enough of these games. John you and Sherlock will be staying with me, where at least I can keep a close eye on you two.”

“What about the care Sherlock is getting here?” Lestrade questioned.

“To be honest, I can do it. They are really only trying to make sure he is comfortable and take Care of his basic needs. They give him a sponge bath once a day, they move his limbs so they do not atrophy and they monitor his vitals.”

“And if he wakes up?”

“Then Lestrade he gets a great big kiss from me.”

“Tell me what you need John and I will make sure you get it.”

“Nothing really. Aside from a heart monitor, and parenteral nutrition, and catheters. Everything else is just basic.”

“Very well I will see it done. Detective Inspector Lestrade I would suggest getting your men out there looking for Dr. Saks. Might I suggest checking security footage of all personnel coming in and out of this room for starters.”

Lestrade left the room to get his men moving on the missing doctor.

 

“John gather yours and Sherlock’s belongings, I will have them checked for any sort of bugs and or surveillance. We can never be too careful.”

 

John began gathering their stuff as Mycroft went to speak to the staff. As next of kin _and_ the British Government, Mycroft was exercising his right to discharge his brother under his care. After signing the necessary paperwork he called Anthea and had her to set up what they needed at his home. Once off the phone he approached Lestrade. “I want to extend the offer to you as well Inspector. I don’t put anything pass Moriarty and you have proven to be influential in Sherlock and John’s lives, I would hate for him to use you to get back at them.”

“I appreciate the offer Mycroft, but I am a detective, I can take care of myself.”

“And John is ex-military and I occupy a high ranking position in the British Government; yet John has been duped twice and even I wouldn’t feel secure being alone until this man is caught and locked up.”

 

Lestrade cocked his head to the side and studied Mycroft.  “Are you hitting on me?” he asked.

“Heavens no. I haven't the time. Nor patience Detective.”

“Well how about I evaluate the situation after we find Dr. Saks.”

“Fair enough you know how to reach us.”

 

John pushed the gurney with Sherlock on it to the elevator, Mycroft fell in step behind him. “I offered Lestrade to stay at my house as well.”

“Really? What did he say?"

"He turned me down.”

When the men were inside the elevator Mycroft turned towards John. “What all happened today, that you noticed as being out of the ordinary?”

John gave Mycroft a rundown of everything he’d noticed in the room.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t done while you were looking for the doctor?”

“Positive, one, I wasn’t out of the room long and two, you see how close the nurses station is to Sherlock’s room. I would’ve seen someone.”

“Alright, so then you have to ask yourself, if you had been awake what would’ve happened then?”

“Honestly Mycroft, his access to surveillance and surveillance materials seem to be a specialty of his. He is scary good with it, like seriously good, a lot like you.”

Mycroft watched John. He was afraid John had figured it all out, but perhaps the good doctor had merely been speculating out loud.

John and Mycroft loaded Sherlock into an ambulance. John assumed that Mycroft had squared away the particulars with the hospital because inside were the other items Sherlock would need on his road to recovery. John was lost in his own thoughts most of the way to Mycroft's. He sat in the back with Sherlock, absently monitoring his vitals. Surprisingly Mycroft had walked to the front of the ambulance, presumably to drive the ambulance.

Roughly an hour and a half later Sherlock and John was settled into their new set of rooms. There was a bedroom, bathroom and sitting room at their disposal. None of these rooms had windows so no outside access. Mycroft assured him that they were not only highly safe, but he had round the clock security as well.

“John, I expect you to take better care of yourself here. You need to eat and sleep regularly.” Unspoken were the words that had John been sleeping Moriarty wouldn’t have found a window of opportunity to do what he had.

Mycroft bid him goodnight and left to his own room.

John went and showered, he made it quick, still shook up about the events of the day and not wanting to leave Sherlock any longer than he had to.

John climbed onto the bed beside Sherlock. He felt like he was missing something. Not necessarily about tonight, but about the whole extended ordeal. He wished Sherlock was awake to hash it over with. John was nowhere near as good at this sort of thing as Sherlock was. Anytime Sherlock let him take a crack at it, he either got it completely wrong or missed what Sherlock considered were the important bits.

 

John had been dozing off when his phone went off, it was D.I. Lestrade.

“John speaking.”

“John, I’m on my way over to you as we speak. I would like to discuss the incident tonight and I decided to take your brother up on his offer.”

“Oh? What about your wife?”

“We split. For good this time, I imagine.”

“I am so sorry Lestrade. She didn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe, but what if _I_ deserved her?”

“Bollocks. You’re one of the best men that I know.”

“Thanks mate, be there in ten.”

 

Lestrade sat across from John, they had brought two chairs from the sitting room into the bedroom.

“Where is your room?” John inquired mainly to make small talk.

“Actually that is one of the things I wanted to discuss with you. I want to crash in the sitting room. Something about this whole case just sits wrong. Like I get that Moriarty is a criminal genius, but how does he keep finding you two? How does he know exactly when to strike?”

“I was just thinking I must be missing something about this case.” John admitted.

“It’s not like he has a tracking device on you or Sherlock.”

John thought about it. “That’s actually a very good theory, but neither Sherlock or I have had the same item of clothing on or shoes. Normally his coat would’ve been a good place to start. But he-”

“He didn’t have it on at the hospital.” Lestrade finished.

“Exactly. We didn’t even have it with us.”

“Okay. Well bear with me for a moment John. You two were together the night you were kidnapped.”

“Yes we were having a moment, a revelation if you will. And then there was a knock at the door that interrupted our conversation.”

“Okay. And Moran said you couldn’t come with Sherlock and him, citing it was of a private nature. That left you open to be kidnapped by Moriarty and Mary.”

“Correct.”

“The next thing that doesn’t sit right with me is the opera house situation. He made a show of manpower but did nothing but set off explosives _after_ it was empty. That just doesn’t seem like him.”

“I think he was trying to gain my trust.”

“Okay, but again, he knew when to set off the charges, he knew when everyone was gone. Even Sherlock makes mistakes from time to time, no one is that insightful. Alright on to Andrew. How on earth did Moriarty have a mole in your brother’s people? It just seemed so bloody unlikely. And why didn’t this Andrew character notify Moriarty of your pending rescue?”

“Maybe he did. He made mention that he worked for Moriarty and failure was not an option. Perhaps he told Moriarty and Moriarty told him it was his problem to handle it.” John tried to rationalize.

“Or maybe still,” Lestrade added, “he didn't care because he knew he could get back up with you whenever he was ready.”

John swore. He could see how that could be true. “Okay, but how? Is someone helping him?”

“I don’t know, but I feel better being here to help watch out for you two.”

“Thank you for that. But I’m sure we can get better accommodations for you than the couch.”

“Have you sat on that couch? It’s more comfortable than my bed! The life of the rich and scary. But back to what we were discussing. I watched back the surveillance from the hospital myself. When Sherlock was brought back to the room after his EEG the doctor was stopped outside your room by a man in a suit. Dr. Saks followed the man to the elevators and out of sight of the camera trained on your room. Maybe thirty minutes later the man in the suit is back and he goes in Sherlock’s room. One of the peculiar things is the guy makes sure to keep his face turned away from the camera the entire time, like he is aware it is there, but when he exits Sherlock’s room he looks right at the camera, smiles and waves.”

“You were at the opera with Sherlock, did you get a good look at Moriarty?” John asked.

“Not really, but looked liked the same bloke to me. Guessing by the built of the guy. Well, we switched cameras several times, never did find any more shots of the doctor with Moriarty again, not on camera. But we did find the doctor.”

“Was he- is he...dead?” John had to know.

“No. But I think it would have been kinder if Moriarty had simply killed him.”

“Why? What did he do?”

Lestrade looked at John for a long moment before answering. “He blinded the poor man. That’s it for his career. People in positions like doctors take that sort of thing pretty hard. I wouldn’t be surprised if we hear of his suicide in the near future.”

John stared at Lestrade, it was hard to reconcile the man before him talking so casually about another man's possible suicide and the man that had prayed for Sherlock and  the man who continuously looked out for them.

 

“Well off to eat, I brought in enough for the both of us. Fish and chips, want some?”

“No thank you. I think I’m going to sleep a little.”

 

Several weeks go by with no incidents, no sinister contacts. Everything was quite. John and Lestrade refused to let down their guard, they had a routine, they alternated shifts watching over Sherlock.

John continued to handle his medical care; sponge baths, the changing of Sherlock’s catheters, and I.V.’s. Sherlock had actually put on a pound or two courtesy of regular liquid meals. John even made sure Sherlock stayed clean shaven like he liked; although he did nothing about the length of his hair. Sherlock showed more and more signs of coming out of his coma. There was no way of telling how long until he was full lucid but John was thrilled that he was showing signs at all.

Because of his impending ‘wake up’ it was more important to have someone with him at all times. Sherlock was opening his eyes for brief periods of time and even looked almost like he was paying attention when John spoke to him. It was a slow process that took an emotional toll on John. He was anxious for Sherlock to awake, and everyday seemed like it could be that day. But even once he did, things would not be easy. Even with John moving Sherlock’s limbs, he would still feel weak and it’ll be difficult to move much.

 

Lestrade had just stuck his head in the room letting John know he was in the sitting room for his shift of the watch. John climbed into bed with Sherlock almost falling asleep instantly, he had been up for almost twenty-four hours because Lestrade hadn’t been able to get away from work, and Sherlock had such a promising night the night before. He had been tracking John’s movements as he moved about the room.

John was sure the D.I. was just as tired as he was, but Lestrade had promised to wake John after a couple of hours sleep.

 

John roused from sleep slowly like he was fighting through a heavy fog. He felt a kiss against his temple. Inwardly John panicked. Had something happened to Lestrade? Who was in here with him? He concentrated on everything he could around him without opening his eyes. There were fingers lightly stroking through his hair. It had grown out a bit since Sherlock had fallen into a coma, and John just hadn’t had time to get it trimmed. Lestrade had offered to do it for him, John turned him down quickly. He would handle it whenever Sherlock woke up.

“John. I know you’re awake.” Came a hoarse scratchy voice.

John frantically sat up on an elbow. Sherlock was looking at him. Sherlock...was...looking... _at_...him. John was so overcome with emotion at seeing Sherlock awake and lucid he began crying, big fat tears of joy ran down his cheeks.

Sherlock tried to lift his hand to wipe them away put his arm felt like they weighed a ton and it fell back to the bed uselessly.

John harshly wiped the tears away, taking in Sherlock's pale form. It had been well over a month since he was last able to look into those startling blue eyes. John laid back down and rolled Sherlock into his arms. Just holding the newly conscious man to him. John rained kisses down on Sherlock’s curls. Pulling away from Sherlock he hollered for Lestrade.

Lestrade panicked and ran into the room. He knew no one could have gotten pass him, so his mind immediately kept to worse case scenario, something was wrong with Sherlock. It took Lestrade's mind a moment to process what he was seeing. Sherlock was frowning at him. “Bloody bastard.” He whispered under his breath as he approached the bed hesitantly.

Sherlock’s frown deepened the closer Lestrade got to the bed. “Are you going to _hug_ me?” Sherlock croaked out, even in its weakened state, his voice held derision.

“You bet your lucky arse I am.”

Lestrade had been shown how to handle Sherlock in case there ever came a reason he was needed to take care of Sherlock for John. He gently pulled Sherlock up into an embrace. “We’ve missed you Sherlock.”

“Hello brother dear.”

Mycroft stood at the door looking in at the trio. His usual look of disgust and haughtiness was in place.

Lestrade gently lowered Sherlock back into John’s waiting arms.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock greeted back.

“Glad to see you’re back among the land of the living.” Not waiting for any responses Mycroft turned and walked from the doorway calling over his shoulder, "I'm calling mummy and I'm sure Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper would like to know as well.

Sherlock groaned. “Fill me in please.”


	16. Chapter 16

”Wait!” Lestrade called out.   
  
Sherlock looked at Lestrade with as much annoyance as his weakened body could muster.    
  
“Aren’t you forgetting something John?”   
  
“Am I?”   
  
“Remember I asked you what would happen if Sherlock woke up?”   
  
John looked thoughtful for a few heartbeats and then he broke out in a wide grin, “Oh yeah, now I remember.”   
  
“John what on e-”   
  
John cut off Sherlock’s question with a kiss. It was a tame, chaste kiss but he tried to pour all of his feelings into it without giving Lestrade a show. When he pulled away, Sherlock’s gaze was a bit unfocused and his lips red.   
  
  
“All right Sherlock, there isn’t much to fill you in on.”   
  
“Well, for starters how long was I in a coma?”   
  
“Five weeks yesterday.” John answered.   
  
“And an explosion is what caused it?” Sherlock asked, his voice was getting stronger with increased use.   
  
“Honestly after the explosion the only development happened in the hospital. Moriarty somehow got into your room without being seen by staff, I was sleep. He wrote on the walls in glow in the dark paint. Moved stuff around, ate food left for me, and blinded your doctor. That’s when we brought you here to your brother’s.” John gave Sherlock a rundown of what happened, keeping the rehash short and straight to the point.   
  
  
Sherlock lay there thinking, he tried bringing his hands up out of habit but they shook with the effort.    
  
John covered Sherlock’s hand with his own and brought them up under his chin.    
  
Sherlock looked to John, “It seems you are still taking care of me John. How do I ever repay you? Any of you?” Sherlock let his eyes wander over to Lestrade, including him in the conversation.    
  
“You’re not meant to repay us, we do it because we care.” Lestrade responded smiling.    
  
Sherlock didn’t respond verbally but Lestrade saw the softening of his eyes and replied, “Anytime mate.”   
  
  
Sherlock’s gaze became unfocused as he withdrew; slowly he closed his eyes, thinking. He sat there like that for roughly thirty minutes before he spoke again. “John sit me up please.” John did as requested. Sherlock, looking around the room said, “Mycroft, you got some explaining to do. Get in here please.”   
  
Moments later Mycroft walked in, to John he appeared a bit pale, but more like his normal stoic self; instantly John was on alert.    
  
“You rang brother?”   
  
  
”Why do you have the room under surveillance?”

“All of the rooms in my house are under surveillance, how else can I guarantee safety?”

“I trust that now that I’m awake you will be disabling the video and sound surveillance in here?”

“Naturally.”

“And I trust you will get Lestrade a real room?”

“Of course. Any other demands, brother mine?”

“None that you can fulfill.”

Mycroft gave his patented fake smile. “Follow me Detective.”

“Greg. What is it with you Holmes brothers that you can’t just call me by my name.”

“Thank you Greg. Get some rest.”

“You’re welcome John. See you in the morning Sherlock.”

“Why? What’s happening in the morning?”

“Bastard.” Lestrade grumbled under his breath smiling as he left.

 

When John and Sherlock were alone John turned to Sherlock. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a leaf on the wind.”

“Is that good or bad?” John was absently playing with one Sherlock's curls. 

“A bit of both really. I feel lost and adrift, just being blown any which way by the wind. And then,” Sherlock looked into John’s eyes for several heartbeats before continuing. “And then I also feel light, carefree, and special.”

“Course you’re special. There’s no one like you. Your brilliant, funny, caring, and a million other things that make you  _ you _ . There are so many amazing things about you Sherlock I can’t began to try and name them all. And I can’t believe no one’s ever took out the time to tell you, to make you see how truly wonderful you are.”

“Only one person has been brave enough to tell me.” 

“Mother’s don’t count.” John interrupted smiling.

“No, my mum doesn’t count. Only you John Watson has ever seen these things in me and cared enough to share your vision with me. Thank you.”

“For the record, Molly has as well.”

“No. For a time Molly fancied herself in love with me, but she doesn’t really know me. And she has never told me I was brilliant. Or wonderful. Or a great big arse. That honor belongs to you alone. You know every positive and negative about me and still stick around. And,” Sherlock looked away quickly, clearly nervous, “If you would be so kind to honor me by making this between us official.” Sherlock rushed the words, they ran into one another but in the end John sat there grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

John tipped Sherlock's chin up to look at him. “The honor would be mine. But first let’s get you back in tip top shape.”

Sherlock looked away again, John could see he looked hurt.

“Is that so you can make sure I am one hundred percent before you tie yourself to me?”

“What!? No! Don’t be ridiculous Sherlock, do you really think I would do that? I said that to give you motivation to pull yourself back together. Besides; we still have to get the bastard that did this to us.”

“Alright but, you’re still going to stay in here with me right?”

“You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

 

The next day Sherlock felt a bit overwhelmed and annoyed. His parents had come to see him, along with Mrs. Hudson. Molly came as well, but before her shift at Bart’s, completely missing the circus that later ensued. Sherlock was anxious to get started with his physical therapy; the sooner he was back on his feet the sooner he could show off John Watson.

John had made himself scarce when Sherlock's parents had come. He would have preferred John's support when his parents started questioning him. Sherlock could only assume  John had left because of the fact they weren’t official. 

But the  whole thing was shot to hell when Mrs. Hudson showed up. 

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson trotted over to Sherlock, he was in one of the chairs Mycroft had been so kind to bring into the room. And as expected she embraced Sherlock in a tight motherly hug full of concern. When she pulled away she looked around, where's John?”

Sherlock tried to stir the conversation into another direction, “Mrs. Hudson, these are my parents.”

“Ohh, how nice to meet you finally. I care about Sherlock as if he was my own.” Mrs. Hudson then turned on Sherlock in a huff as if suddenly remembering something. “Sherlock Holmes! I wish you would have borrowed my other linen table cloth and dishes. Now they’re completely ruined. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re okay, but if you weren’t still hurt I would strangle you. At least tell me how did your little date with John go?” 

Sherlock turned red. “Mrs. Hudson, have you had your soother today? I’m sure Mycroft could fetch you one. Or maybe something stronger, like, let’s say a muzzle.”

Mrs. Hudson’s mouth dropped. 

Sherlock’s mother stood up and marched over to Sherlock slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Sherlock where are your manners; to speak to Mrs. Hudson like that.” 

Sherlock’s dad tried to hold back a smile. Mrs. Holmes tapped him lightly as well, “Don’t encourage him.”

Sherlock glared at Mrs. Hudson. He cared for her but sometimes he just wanted to asphyxiate her.

“So Sherlock where is this John and why have we never been introduced to him?”

Sherlock sat in his seat sulking. Refusing to answer. Luckily the others occupants in the room were use to Sherlock's petulant ways and began to talk amongst themselves. John walked in and all talking ceased. At first Sherlock felt a spike of relief, John was the sun in a room full of dimness. And then Sherlock recalled the conversation of only moments before and dreaded what was to come. 

John walked over to Mrs. Hudson giving her a light kiss on the cheek and a hug. And then over to Sherlock’s parents. He bent and gave Sherlock’s mother a kiss on the cheek and shook Sherlock's father’s hand. “Great to see you again.” John said.

“Again?” Sherlock asked, not meaning to speak out loud. 

“Well yes, I met them in the hospital. Sherlock, how come you have never introduced me to your parents, you know officially?”

Sherlock squinted. John’s use of the word officially confused him. Was he making reference to Sherlock introducing John as his boyfriend or just asking. He couldn’t tell so he said nothing.

 

“Sherlock dear, no need to be nervous, your father and I don’t care that you're involved with a man. We only care that you’re finally happy. We could see how much John cares for you when we came to the hospital. He really dots on you doesn't he?” Sherlock’s mother asked as she smiled warmly at John. 

“Yes. He is a regular mother hen. Always looking out for me.” Sherlock responded in his usual stoic manner.

“But that’s what you need isn’t it? You’d forget that head of yours if it wasn’t attached.” 

Sherlock’s father added, “And I bet you he doesn’t let you get away with all your nonsense either, does he?”

“Ohhh, that’s not quite true, now is it John?” it was Mrs. Hudson's turn to chime in. “John isn’t afraid to correct Sherlock, but he usually just lets him have his way. As long as he isn’t causing too much trouble that is.” 

John stood between a seated Mrs. Holmes and a standing Mrs. Hudson simply beaming. He watched Sherlock and Sherlock watched him back. It helped Sherlock to keep from screaming at everyone to shut up.

“Just like your father Sherlock. Perhaps you should make it official with him yeah?”

There was that word again, official, Sherlock swore the universe was mocking him. 

 

The room quieted down and everyone just kind of looked from John to Sherlock and back again. 

Sherlock’s head began to nod, he was still very weak. John noticed and took control of the situation. “Alright everyone, unfortunately, Sherlock has had enough excitement for the day and needs to get some rest.” John hugged Mrs. Hudson goodbye. “We’re staying on for a couple of days so we’ll be by to check on him later. Thank you for taking care of my baby John.”

“My pleasure Mrs. Holmes.” 

 

John waited until everyone had exited both their borrowed bedroom and the sitting room before turning back to Sherlock. He braced his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned over Sherlock. “Wake up sleepy head they’re gone.”

Sherlock immediately looked up and stole a quick kiss from John. “Thank God. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve taken that. And Mycroft is allowing them to stay a couple of days. I thought I was supposed to be recovering.” Sherlock pouted,  “Get me a blanket, people respect you more when you have a blanket. You know, my mother even hit me? Who hits a sick person?”

“Mother's. I’m sure you were being your normal cheeky self.”

“Like you said,  _ normal. _ ”

 

“Up you go Sherlock. You really do need a bit of rest.”

“I thought I was going to start my physical training? The whole road to recovery thing we discussed last night.”

“Well in recovering, rest plays a big factor in it.” 

Sherlock raised one arm and John put his arm around his back supporting his weight as John helped him stand up. 

Sherlock shuffled to the bed very slowly with John’s arm around him. Sherlock’s own arm was around John’s shoulder holding on as best he could, he didn’t have a very strong grip. By time Sherlock made it to the bed he was exhausted, and breathing a little heavy. John had explained to him he had to get use to using his muscles again. It could take days or weeks for his muscles to return to normal and be able to support his weight again. 

John helped Sherlock into bed, tucking him in and the whole nine yards. 

“John will you tell me a bedtime story?” Sherlock joked. 

John kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair. “No, you need your rest. Now go to sleep.” John played along.

John sat on the edge of the bed watching Sherlock. He saw the internal struggle play across his face, testament alone, that Sherlock wasn’t quite back to himself. “You’re doing great Sherlock. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

“I’m not.” he lied.

“Yes you are. And just so you know, we have already gone  _ official _ . You just need to get better to go official  _ official _ .”

“ I don't follow.” Sherlock said between yawns.

“Your parents have met me and approve. Your surrogate mother approves, Mrs. Hudson has been approving since we met and either of even realized we approved.”

“Question John,”

“Yes?” John responded as he climbed into the bed beside Sherlock. 

“I still get kisses and cuddling before I am fully healed, right?” Sherlock yawned again.

“Of course, I’m not a saint, I won't’ deprive myself of those.”

Time passes and John thinks Sherlock is asleep. 

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“If you ever tell anyone how I am when it’s just us I will deny it vehemently.”

“Don’t worry Sherlock, those moments are all for us.


	17. Chapter 17

Very good Sherlock. You’ll be back to one hundred percent in no time.” John encouraged Sherlock. 

Sherlock felt a silly but he was determined to get back on his feet. John had graduated him to using small hand weights in multiple reps. He also had small ankle weights that he utilized. 

Sherlock often zoned out and day dreamed about all the ways he was going to show John how much he appreciated him in his life, how much he cared for him. He still had a lot of attentiveness and dotting to do. 

Today his mind was somewhere else though. He had been thinking about the whole situation with Moriarty and he, John and Lestrade all agreed there was something off. There was a missing element to the whole thing. Motivation was definitely missing but  also savoir faire. Some would argue that Moriarty was just a criminal genius. But Sherlock knew from experience being smart was not simply enough, you needed to know how to do certain things. Some things had to be learned. And like John had pointed out Moriarty seemed scary good with surveillance. And that was a learned skill. Hell, even Sherlock had learned it at a pretty young age. But he had always searched out new activities to quell his boredom. 

 

“Sherlock love, did you hear me?” 

Sherlock's looked up. He had been methodically doing his reps and he imagine that John had kept encouraging him even though he knew Sherlock had checked out. He said he did it in case some of it got through to Sherlock anyways. But the speaker was not John, his mother was standing there looking down at him. “Sorry, what?”

His mum smiled indulgently at him. “I said I am throwing a little dinner tonight, I just wanted to do something. It’s been a week since you woke up you know. And you’re doing so well. I just...are you okay with this Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s mother rarely asked if he was okay with family plans before doing them, he squinted at her. Was something wrong maybe? “Yes. That’s fine.” He wouldn't’ deny his mother a small measure of happiness just to make himself comfortable. Besides, John would be there. He always made unbearable situations better just by being there.

 

John pressed a hand on Sherlock’s bicep, halting his curls. “That’s enough of arms for today. You have already shattered yesterday’s record.”

“Good.” Sherlock grasped John’s shirt loosely in his hand and dragged him down so he could kiss him. 

“Well I’ll just leave you two to it then.” Mrs. Holmes said as she hurried out of the room smiling.

Sherlock groaned. He completely forgot she was in the room. “Sorry John.”

“No need to apologize. Your family should get use to the ideal of us together anyways.”

“Oh I don’t think that’s an issue in the least. I have never really been one for public displays of affection. And I don’t recall you ever really being overtly friendly with your girlfriends in the past.”

John knelt besides Sherlock’s chair. “That was only because it always seemed wrong to do so in front of you. That’s why I always tried to go to their house. Plus you have nifty trick of making my girlfriends disappear.”

“Disappear? Me? I’ve never made a girlfriend of yours disappear before.”

“Remember Jeanine?”

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not putting that on me. She left you because you confused her with one of the other ones.”

“Only after you did.” John said laughing.

“But at least I knew Jeanine didn’t have a dog.”

“Yeah well, maybe I did muck that up a bit.”

“John?”

“Yeah Sherlock?”

“Where do you see us in three months?”

“Three months? That’s not an awfully long time away.”

“Yes well, none of your relationship has lasted beyond the three month mark.”

“I do believe you’re mistaken.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But in my defense none of those worked out because I was already in love with you. I was perfectly capable of carrying on long term relationships  _ before _ meeting you Sherlock.” John was still smiling in good humor.

“So where do you see us in three months?”

“Back in our own flat. Sharing a room, back taking on cases. Happy.” John had a sudden sinking feeling, “You’re not having doubts are you? Cause it’s too late, you already signed on the dotted line.”

“Dotted line, what dotted line?”

One day while you were out of it, all dopey on meds, I had you sign a marriage certificate.”

“What? Why did you wait until I was out of it? I would’ve signed it willingly.” Sherlock argued.

“I was just kidding Sherlock. I rather have you awake with all your wits about you if we ever got married.”

“And is that something you can see happening between us? It’s something you want?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

“Course. Don’t you?”

“I never really thought about it to be honest. I don’t really like attention on me.”

John laughed. 

“You are odd when it comes to attention. You lap it up but at the same time it makes you uncomfortable, how does that work?”

“I don’t know. Help me up John.”

John helped Sherlock to his feet. 

Sherlock stretched his arms high over his head, exposing a strip of creamy white skin across his stomach. 

John licked his lips absently and looked away, feeling like a peeping tom.

“Why do you turn away anytime I change or show  a little skin? I know you’ve seen more while I was in the coma. Hell, you changed my catheters. How much more personal can you get?”

“Just showing you a bit of respect Sherlock.”

Sherlock walked slowly over to John, bringing his hand up to play with the hairs at the back of John’s neck. “Don’t. Not in that regard. Nudity doesn’t bother me.”

“Is this your way of saying you want to see me naked?”

Sherlock smiled. “That and so much more. I think, John, being married to you would be an adventure that the world may not be ready for.”

John reeled from both statements. Sherlock wanted to see him naked and  _ more.  _ Also he was thinking of what marriage would be like. Good that was a relief. Had he not wanted to get married, that could have presented problems in the foreseeable future. 

“Care to shower with me?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“Um...no, I think that would definitely fall under the  _ official  _ category.” John answered.

“Oh, come on, you know you want to.”

“Quite true but I will stick to my word all the same thank you. Call me when you’re done.” John stalked off waving his mobile phone in the air to show Sherlock what he meant.

 

An hour later Sherlock and John were discussing new exercises they would like to implement into Sherlock's routine. He was progressing very well and next week he was scheduled to go in for a check up. 

Lestrade walked in. “Hello Sherlock how you feeling?”

“You really should start knocking you know, we’re an item now.”

“Oh really? I hadn’t heard.” Lestrade replied with a straight face.

 

Well I’m glad you’re here nonetheless.

“You are?”

“Yes there is something I would like to discuss, and seeing how you were in the thick of the situation with Moriarty, I would like you present.” 

“Alright.”

“Just one more party is missing. Time for a tetê-a-tetê.”

Lestrade looked to John with a question in his eyes, John shrugged in response. He had no clue what Sherlock was on about.

 

Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

**I request your presence.**

**\-  SH**

 

Moments later Mycroft shows up in Sherlock’s room, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes dear brother?” 

“What is the connection between you and Moriarty? Are you helping him?”   
John’s eyes bulged, he had not seen this confrontation coming.   
“No. Of course not. If I had been, I would have killed him myself when he hurt you Sherlock." 

 

”Quite the declaration of love brother. Okay, so you’re not helping him but there is a connection. What is the connection between you and Moriarty?”

Mycroft stayed quiet.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock raised his voice slightly, not wanting to yell and risk alerting their mother. 

“Alright, if you must know. James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran used to work for the British Government.”

Sherlock stared at his brother giving no reaction. John sat up abruptly, fully intending for a physical altercation. 

“John.” Sherlock said quietly.

The ex-soldier sat back down, balling his hands into fist, trying to fight his anger back down. 

Lestrade looked around the room in obvious surprise.

“ _ You’re _ the missing link to all of this. Because of you Moriarty had access to Sherlock and myself repeatedly.” John whispered angrily.

“Well that’s not true now is it?” This came from Lestrade. “I bet Moriarty trained under your brother but Mycroft never really  _ gave _ him access to you two. True, if he hadn’t trained him he wouldn’t have been able to move around different computer and surveillance systems so easily.”

“Also I’m guessing,” John began, “That Mycroft being the closet Sherlock fan that he is, he probably complained and compared Moriarty and others to Sherlock whenever they screwed up or didn’t produce the desired result. ‘Really James, even my baby brother can pull off that maneuver, probably with his eyes closed. Truly it astounds me how my younger brother at the age of ten could easily figure out this puzzle, and yet you two simpletons can’t.’” John mimicked Mycroft. “You piqued their curiosity about Sherlock and prepped a ripe breeding ground for resentment. I hope you’re happy.”

Sherlock looked between Lestrade and John and beamed. “You two have positively grown up while I was away.”

“You weren’t around to wow us with that brilliant mind of yours, we had to start thinking for ourselves.” Lestrade winked at John, showing he meant no harm by his words. 

Sherlock looked back to his brother, his hand twitched as he tried reaching for John. He had come quite far in his physical therapy, but sometimes his hands did what they wanted.

And John always so in tune with Sherlock took his hand without even having to look.

“So how true is that Mycroft? Did you put Moriarty on my trail? Is that what you wanted to tell me the night you came and got me from my house? Is it guilt or sentiment that has you being uncharacteristically attentive?”

Mycroft stood up straighter, one of the few tells that he had, he was on the defense. “Like I told you before Sherlock, you will always be my little brother, and in that regard, it will always be sentiment.”

Sherlock was unsure of how he should react. He really couldn’t blame his brother. He had been doing his job and he had no way of knowing he was helping to create a madman that would later go off on a crazy stalking tangent. But on the other hand, he’d lied about knowing anything else about Moriarty. He could have helped Sherlock be better prepared to deal with the threat had he just been upfront about it.

 

“After tonight, John and I will be moving back into our flat. Have you checked for surveillance in the flat while we were away?”

“What do you take me for, a fool? Of course I checked. My team found two more cameras in the sitting room. One in each of your rooms and the kitchen. Also, three in the landings between yours and Mrs. Hudson’s floors. One in Mrs. Hudson's flat and the last one in your bathroom Sherlock. The ones in the sitting room were rendered useless by the blast. All the rest I have my people running a reverse trace on the uplink.”

“Eleven cameras, isn’t that a bit overkill?” John asked. 

“Eleven? That was only ten.” Lestrade interrupted.

“Sherlock had already found one camera in the sitting room.” John explained.

“Moriarty was always thorough, but coupled with Moran, their thoroughness borders on obsessive.” Mycroft answered John’s question.

“Then we will check again when we get home. Mom is throwing a dinner tonight. We will be calm and civilized and speak nothing of this matter. For her.”

“For mummy.” 

 

That night dinner was a simple affair with the Holmes family, John, Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson. 

Mrs. Hudson was thrilled to hear that Sherlock and John would be returning to Baker Street in the morning. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes decided they should be heading back home and would check in on Sherlock from time to time. 

 

Dinner was over and Molly announced that she had made dessert and would bring it out. John jumped up, “Please, allow me.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John’s receding back. He was up to something. Sherlock glared at Lestrade, but the vacant look the D.I. gave back was enough for Sherlock to believe whatever John was up to, he was in on it alone.

John came back with cake that Molly had made. Sherlock wasn’t a big cake eater, he’d pass. John cut slices and passed them out around the table, as he was passing Sherlock his, Sherlock was about to turn it down when he saw a small jewelry box sitting on the plate instead of cake. Someone dropped their fork, Sherlock absently registered the action. He couldn’t think clearly. All he saw was the box on the plate being handed to him. He didn’t even raise his own hands to accept it. 

John watched Sherlock fully amused at his lack of motor skills. Sherlock simply stared at the plate and the ring box sitting on it, not saying anything just staring at it. John saw Molly drop her fork in surprise and whisper, “Oh my God.” Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes sat with their hands clutched in anticipation in front of them. 

Sherlock was rudely snapped out of his temporary paralysis by Lestrade yelling across the table, “Go on! Take it!” With shaky hands, that had nothing to do with his coma, he picked up the box and opened it. Inside was a white gold band with a single blue topaz stone in a gypsy setting. 

John sat down next to Sherlock setting the plate on the table. “Sherlock, I guess I should have planned this better. But seeing you sitting there so overwhelmed makes me feel just as overwhelmed.No amount of preparing would have been enough I look at you and just go blank sometimes. Uh, I love you Sherlock, and I know there will be no one else for me. No one else to make me feel like, well, like I do with you. Sherlock,” John got down on one knee and pulled Sherlock’s hands into his own, “Will you marry me?”

Sherlock finally turned and locked eyes with John, there were tears in his eyes and Sherlock could see John was incredibly nervous. Why would he be nervous?  _ Yes of course I’m marry you. _ Wait...it might help if he said it out loud. But all Sherlock could muster was a slight nod of his head. John leapt to his feet pulling Sherlock into an embrace. He wouldn’t kiss him here because he had just told him how he hated public displays of affection. 

Letting Sherlock go he saw that the three women present were crying, along with Lestrade. Sherlock’s father was smiling at them and even Mycroft's usual look of extreme discomfort held a hint of pride.

 

“Of course I’ll bloody marry you, you’re the best thing to ever happen to me John Watson.” Suddenly burst from Sherlock. John and a couple others laughed. Mrs. Holmes was rounding the table to giver her congratulations when John, Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade's mobiles all went off at the same time. Knowing this couldn’t be good they all checked their phones; they all had received the same text.

**Did you miss me?**

**\-  Jim**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that my friends is the end, leave you with a nice little cliff hanger. With a nod to HLV.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this story. I can't believe I wrote a 50,000 plus novel in less than 30 days. I feel awesome. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read it.  
> And double thanks if you left me any feedback.


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